Walking the Fallen Cities
by Thrae Elddim
Summary: Steve Rogers knew far too much from the first time he opened his eyes in the 21st century. A forbidden relationship in 1944, a plethora of evidence but none that makes sense, a journal of impossible things. The only common denominator: Anthony Starosta, a dead man who shares a face with Tony Stark. Sequel/prequel to Seeing Through the Eyes of Icarus.
1. Prologue: Once Upon a Time

Summary: Palladium poisoning, Norse gods, and a ghost story all twist together, and Steve Rogers knew far too much about all of it from the first time he opened his eyes in the 21st century. It leaves Tony scrambling for answers even as he helps save the world. A forbidden relationship ended tragically in 1944, a plethora of evidence but none that makes sense, a journal of impossible things. The only common denominator: Anthony Starosta, a dead man who shares his face.

In a world where Tony Stark stuck to the cue cards and Captain America remembers the time traveler he loves, what can change?

(Prequel/sequel to Seeing Through the Eyes of Icarus.)

 **Edit Note 13/5/2016:** Just correcting my misspelling of Yinsen's name. It's bothered me for weeks. But here's a new chapter for you all!

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright. I also don't own the cover image.

 **Prologue: Once Upon a Time in Afghanistan**

" _You are, and always have been, my dream."_

― _Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook_

When it comes down to it, Tony Stark's life has always been defined by Captain America. First it was being told the stories of a brave, kind and true man in the few times he got along with his father. Then his own research and readings of the comics saddled him with being called a geeky fanboy, which he didn't really mind. It was true. And so it went, through the years, until he reached high school.

That was when he sneaked into his dad's storage room and went through the old prototypes and plans. Things that hadn't seen the light of electricity, never mind day, for years. Fascinated, Tony went through all the files from the war.

In the middle of one, sandwiched between the pages of the report on some mechanical arm, he found a picture. In it, an obscenely handsome man wearing a military dress uniform smiled brightly at something outside the frame. His happiness almost made him glow. The picture was in black and white, but Tony was able to fill in the details: hair probably golden blonde, blue eyes. When he saw a round shield at the man's feet, his eyes went wide: it was Captain America's shield. This was Captain America outside the uniform. On the back, his father's neat script read, "Captain Steve Rogers, May 1944."

His eyes absorbed the picture, memorizing every curve and line of the man who didn't appear to realize that he was on camera. When it came time to put everything back, Tony hesitated. Instead of replacing the picture, he tucked it into a breast pocket.

The next day he made a frame for it. The only thing special about this frame was its durability; it was made of the toughest materials he could get his hands on that wouldn't damage the delicate paper or be obvious in his jacket. He kept the picture close to his heart after that, never without it.

In eleventh grade the frame showed its mettle. Idiot Elliot and his gang were picking on him as usual, but this time his jacket was open; the picture flew out. When it landed at Weasel Wesley's feet, he sneered, "Who's the old man? Your boyfriend?" As if just realizing what he said, he added with a certain amount of wariness, "You a fag now?"

Tony snorted through his bloody nose. "Give that back," he told the other boy calmly. He got a kick to the ribs for it.

"Oh, Stark really likes it. Come on boys, I think we've found what we were looking for," Idiot Elliot said with a laugh.

Panic allowed Tony to get up and tackle Weasel Wesley, trying to get his picture back. Who knew what they would do to it? He was punched in the side of the head and when he came to, he was in the nurse's office with Rhodes, one of the day kids, at his bedside. Turns out he had been the one to find Tony and carry him in. That was when the two first became friends.

A plan was hatched to get the picture back, and it worked like a charm. Nothing had been able to penetrate the frame, the edges were just a little scratched and blackened. After that he kept it in a hidden compartment of his bag.

It wasn't in time to keep copies of the picture from circulating around, with the implication that Tony was fucking one of his dad's old war buddies. When he didn't deny it (hell, if he could he totally would) the girls started asking for fashion advice and most of the guys avoided him like the plague. Which actually worked out for him.

Luckily, Howard never found out about that incident. He did find out about his son's sexual preferences later that year when he caught Tony with a lacrosse player and then one of the cheerleaders, but it was quickly dropped. Not like the old man could say anything.

Around college, his feelings toward the subject of the photo changed. There had always been hero worship and admiration, and there still was. But _feelings_ creeped in. Sure, he had flings and relationships (most of which ended badly) but none of them were what he was looking for, something was missing. It wasn't like a photo could do the trick either, but everything he knew about the Captain just sort of ingrained itself into that image.

Subtly and sinisterly, his heart had conspired against him and not for the first time (or the last), he hated that piece of flesh in his chest. He had fallen in love with a dead man without even realizing it.

To keep up appearances he kept doing what he did best: breaking hearts and showing off. Every one night stand left him feeling a little more broken on the inside. That was where the alcohol came in.

Then his parents died in a car crash that just didn't feel right, and suddenly he was the owner of a multi-billion dollar company. Well, technically. While he was still in college, Uncle Obie took care of things and he took full advantage of that. Go big or go home, and all that.

Years whiled by, and Tony gained a reputation. Not one his father would have been proud of (or maybe he would have, Tony had seen the list of 'Stark specials' the jeweler made) but it got him on the news and magazine covers anyways. Bad attention was better than no attention.

The company only got bigger. Propelled by Tony's ruthless public persona and cutthroat politics, Stark Industries became the biggest weapons manufacturer in the world. And the most profitable, but he didn't like boasting about that. (Which is a blatant lie.)

With the demonstration of the Jericho missile, everything went wrong. Tony was hit with one of his own weapons and sure that he was going to die. Somewhere in the back of his mind as he lay bleeding out under the desert sun, he wondered if maybe he would finally meet Cap.

A chuckle bubbled up his throat. It tasted distinctly bloody. The Merchant of Death, going to heaven or wherever people like Captain America went? Inconceivable.

Tony passed out after that.

When he woke up in a cave, he felt distinctly cheated. Then he realized that there was a huge fucking hole in his chest and a goddamned car battery attached. Things got a little hazy after that.

Never would he tell anyone about the days that followed. The beatings, the hunger and thirst, the waterboarding. That last one terrified him; he could hear the battery his life depended on sparking every time he was dunked, and could do nothing more than hope it would keep working.

Sometimes, he hoped it would stop. That would be the end of the torture and captivity. Maybe he would get to meet his idol, even briefly. A reward for not giving into these clowns' demands would be nice.

Then Yinsen, the doctor who had been forced to save him, shamed him into living. "This is your legacy," the old man told him harshly, gesturing to the tools and weapons all around them, "You are the Merchant of Death. Do you want that to be all that you are known for?" When that had no effect, he pulled something from under his hard sleeping mat. "Is that how you want him to remember you?" It was the photo of Captain America.

Tension that Tony hadn't known was in his chest eased. He snatched the frame from Yensin's hand and held it protectively to himself, right below where the wires were connected. "I thought I lost this," he said softly, raking a hand over the back.

The frame had stood up even to Jericho. It was more battered than ever, chipped and scratched to hell, but intact. There were small gouges in the back from pieces of metal, a few of which were still in there.

"They were going to burn it," Yinsen replied.

The mere idea made Tony angry. He held the precious picture tighter to him. It was worth too much for that to be allowed, even discounting its historical value.

Something in Yinsen's eyes softened as he watched the other man. "Is this what you would have him remember you as, the Merchant of Death?" he asked.

No matter that it was impossible, that Cap would never know him regardless of what he was, something in Tony rebelled at the thought. He was so much more than that. There was so much more that he could offer the world, and he'd be damned if he didn't try to be the best man he could. Maybe then he could face death with dignity.

Instead of going quietly into the night, Tony and Yinsen started building. It wasn't the missile the Ten Rings demanded, though. No, Tony had pulled an idea out of his ass that might save them: a suit of armor. Power armor, one could call it.

The photo got brought up not a week after their crazy scheme was hatched. They were taking the evening off of work to keep from going mad, playing cards and improvised board games. It's not like they had access to Monopoly.

"Who is he? The man in the picture," Yinsen asked, gesturing to where the frame leaned on Tony's poor excuse for a pillow.

With a smile that could very well be called sappy, Tony looked over at it. He had long ago memorized everything about the man immortalized on the paper, but somehow it still made his heart beat a little faster. "Captain Steve Rogers," he answered. In a whisper he confided, "Captain America."

Bemused, Yinsen looked at the picture again. "Yes, I wondered where I had seen that shield," he mused with a little smile. "I meant, who is he to you?" There was mischief in his question, but he honestly wanted to know.

"Nothing, really. You know the Captain America story: he died before I was even thought of," Tony answered evasively. That wasn't something he wanted to admit to anyone, not just yet.

Yinsen accepted the answer with a nod. "It is a strange and wonderful thing, to be able to fall in love with a man you've never met," he commented sagely.

There was nothing Tony could say to that. For once in his life, he didn't feel right lying.

The silence was accepted for the confirmation that it really was, and Yinsen went on to ask about Tony's family. "You have nothing and everything," he said with a pitying smile when he was told.

If there was one thing Tony hated, it was pity. "What about you? Got a family?" he asked in return.

"Yes. My wife and children. I will see them again when I leave here," Yinsen answered calmly.

When Yinsen died, Tony felt like someone kicked him in the gut with a football cleat. This may have been the closest thing he had to family, and it was gone. The Ten Rings would pay.

Getting back to the States was a dream come true. Sometimes he would wake up and think it had all been a nightmare, that Afghanistan never happened. Then he would regain awareness of his body and feel the arc reactor pressing against his heart and lungs. It was as real as he was.

The first thing Tony did besides eat a cheeseburger was stop the weapons manufacturing. In that cave he had made a promise. To himself, to Yinsen, to Cap, he didn't know, but he wasn't about to break it no matter who he meant it for. No more weapons. No more.

Of course, no one understood. Privately he had expected that. It was a huge departure from his usual personality, from what everyone knew of him. But he meant every second of it.

The only weapon that he would ever again make was a way to turn himself into one. As fast as he could, Tony hammered out another suit. He was lucky he hadn't died in the first one. This one, he would be able to use for more than fifteen minutes. This one, he would use to save the world and not just himself.

Eventually he succeeded. The icing was a problem, but of course he found a way around that. He was Tony Stark, he could do anything.

Anything but see betrayal right in front of his face, apparently. It took Obie ripping his mechanical heart out with a smile for him to realize everything. That attack in Afghanistan wasn't luck. Those weapons weren't stolen, they were sold on the black market. And Obie was responsible for all of it.

When Tony was safe again, his old reactor from the cave in his chest, the panic died down and he made another promise. No one would ever do that to him again. They would never betray him like that and leave him to die. He wouldn't let them.

Even Pepper said that he became cold after that. Calculating, paranoid, distant. It was the end to any kind of relationship they might have had.

But that was okay. Pepper was safer this way. And if Tony was honest, it never would have worked out anyway. He was too emotionally unavailable, even before Stane's (Obie's) betrayal.

In another bid to protect himself, and those he was closest to, Tony read off those stupid cue cards that SHIELD prepared for him. Lies were told and questions avoided, and Everhart's smirking face ground into his corneas until he wanted to shout the truth. But he didn't.

As far as the world was concerned, Iron Man was someone else. He was a faceless entity that served as billionaire genius asshole Tony Stark's bodyguard. The one night stands stopped so that they didn't see the arc reactor and Pepper was under the impression that he really had hired someone.

Everything was okay for a while. Things went back to (almost) normal. No longer limited to finding new ways of destroying, designs went from idea to life faster than they could be marketed. Tony's friendships with Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy solidified. He was almost content.

Then some kind of poisoning crept up on Tony and it wasn't long before he realized that it was his arc reactor doing it. The very thing keeping him alive was killing him. Irony was a bitch.

In the middle of his search for a new element to run the arc reactor off of, the pirate-spy-thing that had invaded his house after the battle contacted him. "Listen, Stark, I need a favor," the man said tiredly.

While usually Tony would have made a smart remark about being a little busy and flipped off the line, he got curious. "Doth my ears deceive me?" he asked with an overdramatic gasp.

"We found Captain America and he needs a place to stay," Fury said.

The world seemed to stop for a minute.

"Yeah, and I found the fountain of youth and it needs a rocketship," Tony snarked, "Don't play that game with me." He went to turn the call off. There were better things to do, like find a way to not die.

"No joke, Stark," Fury replied calmly.

Tony's finger hovered over the 'end call' button for a moment. Maybe this was garbage, or maybe it was worth listening to. "You have thirty seconds before I get back to work," he said instead, resting against his work table with crossed arms.

"Russian oil drillers found a plane crashed, they called us. When we got there, we were able to identify it as the Valkyrie, the super-bomber Cap went down in. He was still inside, frozen solid," Fury explained. For a few seconds he hesitated, as if uncertain of whether he should say what was on the tip of his tongue.

Curious, Tony decided to help him out. "Why should I give house space to a corpse? That's what morgues are for." Okay, so he sassed him. Big difference.

"He's still alive." The words were spoken deliberately, with more weight than Fury had ever applied to anything in Tony's presence.

For once in his life, Tony knew what being shocked stupid felt like. "You can't be serious," he said.

Fury smiled grimly. "As a heart attack. Now are you going to give him a room or not?"

Just for show, Tony took a moment to think. If this was actually Cap, it was a no-brainer. "How do I know this is the real thing?" he questioned. It would be just like SHIELD to send a spy in disguised as Captain fucking America.

In response, video feed from what looked like a polar expedition was pulled up. There was a hunk of ice and people in arctic gear waving heat lamps over it in a dark, entirely white room. A torso partially stuck out of the block of ice, blonde and very blue in the face; a white star was embroidered on blue on his broad chest. Wires led from his exposed neck to a heart monitor, which beeped maybe twice in the two minutes that Tony watched.

More than anything, he looked at the man's face. The video was dark and grainy, but this looked like the same man in his photo. Something about the corrugated brow and narrow lips spoke to him. "Okay then," Tony allowed, "It may be Captain America." It probably was, if he was honest with himself.

"Dog tags read Steven G Rogers of Brooklyn, New York. Catholic. Right ID number," Fury agreed.

Catholic? Somehow, Tony had never expected that. "I'll think on it, get back to you later. Kinda busy right now," Tony answered with a flippant wave of his hand. Damn right, he would think on it.

The line shut off and Tony was left to think- stew- in peace. He wanted to whoop and break something at the same time, so he slid down his worktable straight to the floor. Ignoring his concerned bots, he put his head in his hands and wondered if hallucinations were a symptom of the palladium poisoning.

A sharp jab from You that was probably meant to be affectionate refuted that. Nope, it was real. He had really been told that Captain America, the man he resented and idealized in equal measure, was alive and may be staying with him in the near future.

The world somehow managed to be more insane than he was.

Before having any kind of nervous breakdown, or temper tantrum, he had to make sure that it really was Cap. If so, he could get home and then have his meltdown. If not, everything was okay and he was just dying. No biggie.

"No time like the present," Tony muttered and heaved himself up. He called for JARVIS to put on the suit and stood still for it to be placed on his body, all the while wondering what the hell he was doing. Using the suit sped up the poisoning.

It was still his best option. A plane wasn't fast enough and wouldn't be able to land where he needed to.

"JARVIS, hack SHIELD again. Look for where they claim to have Captain America," Tony ordered and took off. He relished every second spent in the air; flight was one of the few freedoms he had. And that wasn't even free right now.

The directions projected onto his HUD led directly to Greenland, just as Fury said. Southern Greenland, near Paamiut. "I always wanted to find out why they called it Greenland," Tony mused to himself.

There was no reply. JARVIS knew him too well for that.

Instead, Tony was left to think the whole flight, whenever he wasn't dodging planes or helicopters. It was a good and bad thing at once.

While he loved what he knew of Cap, he couldn't help resenting the man too. If he hadn't crashed the bomber where no one could find, maybe his dad would have been happy. Maybe things would have been better. Tony conspicuously ignored the concept that he may not exist then.

Instead, his father had become a bitter drunkard. He had fallen in love with a man who couldn't love him back, and didn't even have a body to bury when he lost Cap to the cruel Atlantic. It had consumed him.

It was easy to blame Captain America for that, but Tony knew it wasn't his fault. Not really.

When he landed, it was with even more mixed emotions than when he took off. Sneaking onto the base did nothing to distract him, it was easy. Tony didn't encounter anyone inside. There wasn't even a trace of noise to tell him that it was occupied.

"Getting a little creepy," he muttered to himself as he followed JARVIS's directions through the base. Reaching a weatherproofed door, he shone a light on it and typed out the sequence that the fingerprints showed him.

If it weren't for the suit, he would have frozen. There was no heat, but that only made sense: things that have been on ice for a long time need to thaw slowly and evenly, or else damage might occur.

What made no sense was that no one was around. Shouldn't they all be waving heat lamps around still? Cap was less than half defrosted.

It really was him. There was no need for further confirmation, Tony knew that face as well as he knew his own. Even bright blue with cold and extremely slow blood flow, he was able to recognize Captain America. Dear lord, how did a man look so good even half dead? (Of course, the answer was science and he knew it.)

Unable to resist, he put a gauntleted hand to that cold cheek. The sensors told him that Cap was barely any warmer than ice, with minimal blood flow and one heart beat per minute. Anyone else would be dead, but the blips on the heart monitor confirmed that this man was alive.

The last thing he expected was for Cap's eyes to open. They were the same blue as his face and half-lucid as they stared up at Tony.

If poison were sentient, this case would be having a field day. Tony's heart thudded so hard and fast that he was sure he just cut a few hours off his life as he took his hand from the other man's face. Was this too stalker-ish? "Heya Cap," he said, and then got the urge to smack himself. That was what he was leading with?

Cap's smile was sudden, weak and blinding. "Tony… I'm home," he said faintly. As quickly as they had opened, his eyes closed and he seemed to fall unconscious again.

Suddenly the room was full of researchers just as mystified as he was. Ignoring the protests that he shouldn't be there, and what was he doing there anyways, Tony tramped out through the base. He couldn't get away fast enough.

While his initial question was answered (yes, this was definitely Captain America), more questions had appeared. How did Cap know who he was? More likely, who was the Tony he thought he was talking to? What had he meant when he said he was home?

When he was flying over West Virginia, a possibility struck Tony so hard that he nearly crashed into a mountainside. Maybe this Tony he thought he was talking to was dead and he thought he had died too. It made sense. It was chilling that he would smile about the possibility.

"So I'm thinking red walls, a white bed, and blue textiles," Tony commented randomly.

"That is a terrible idea, sir," JARVIS replied bluntly.

Tony chuckled and dictated his real plans for what was the guest bedroom. It was just too fun messing with his computerized butler sometimes. Even with the full acknowledgement that he couldn't be surprised when JARVIS eventually went full Skynet on him.

By the time he got back to Malibu, painting supplies and furniture and everything else he would need to prepare the spare bedroom were ordered. It would all get delivered in the morning.

Like hell was Captain America going to stay in some generic guest room under his roof.


	2. In the Beginning

I never expected the kind of response to just the prologue! I'd like to thank **Demon She-wolf** , **Terri'smind** , **MarveyTibbsMcGarrettWilliams** , **tigerlilly** , **Zenoneel-Sarior** , **Th3RedPyro** , and a **Guest** for your kind reviews! Not to mention the mind-boggling _31_ Favorites and _44_ Follows. Holy crap! Thank you all so much for your support, it means everything.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

 **Chapter 1: In the Beginning**

" _Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect."_

― _J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_

When Steve came to, he went tense. The last thing he remembered was the plane crashing into the ice, then- wait, no. He remembers darkness and being unable to breathe. But that's not right either. It most certainly wasn't lying in the softest bed he's ever felt, though, so he put the thought aside.

The room smelled of wallpaper glue, furniture polish, and laundry detergent. Wherever he was, it was clean and probably newly redecorated. The scent of hot metal and cloves made his chest ache with longing; he would know that smell anywhere, but it was impossible.

Steve Rogers wasn't dead. He'd thought he was going to see Tony and Bucky again. But the gentle sounds of the ocean, then a page flipping, were not what he would wake up to if he really was in heaven. A familiar soft whirring sound accompanied them. The noises echoed slightly, the room was tall and mostly empty. From the quality of the sound, it was rather large.

Having gathered all the information he could get with his eyes closed, Steve pried them open. And blinked at where he found himself. One wall was made of windows that overlooked the ocean, framed with bunches of sheer white curtains, while the others were wallpapered in soft yellow with gold pinstripes and the furniture (desk, chair, bed posts) were beautifully carved and polished wood. He turned his head and found himself unable to breathe.

It was _Tony_. The man sitting in a comfortable armchair at the bedside couldn't be there, because Tony Stark was dead, but there he sat with a thick book balanced on one thigh. Hungrily Steve's eyes roved the man, from fluffy brown hair to bare feet.

Except that this was wrong. When he died, Tony looked to be Steve's own age rather than the forty five he claimed. Now he almost looked that age, crow's feet forming at the edges of clever brown eyes and hair a little thinner. Above all, his Tony had always known if he was awake or just being stubborn. This man hadn't once looked up from his book.

Steve's lips went thin. So this was how they wanted to play it, huh? He sat up in the bed and narrowed his eyes at the man sitting at the bedside. "Who are you and where am I?" he asked, voice tightly controlled.

Now, the Tony look-alike noticed and looked up with cautiously excited eyes. "My name is Tony Stark. You're in my house in Malibu, California," he said in Tony's voice. He closed the book and set it on a side table that Steve hadn't noticed, paying full attention to the man in bed.

"Who are you really?" Steve asked coldly. If the man didn't tell the truth this time, he'd have to find out for himself.

"I really am Tony Stark. Howard's son," the man insisted.

The addition of Howard into the mix threw Steve for a moment. All those months ago his Tony had insisted that Howard would only have one child, and it would definitely be a son. He'd bet ten bucks on it.

"Ruskies found you when they were drilling for oil," Stark was explaining when he tuned back in.

"Make you a deal," Steve interrupted, not caring that it was rude.

"Is it one I can't refuse?" Stark joked. Something in his eyes was deadly serious.

"You show me your arc reactor and tell me what it does, and if you're right, I'll believe you," Steve offered in one of his more cunning plans. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

"How do you know about my arc reactor?" Stark asked, dead serious. He leaned back to try to gain some height, but still only came up to Steve's forehead.

It was a battle not to grin. "I'm a little bit psychic," Steve said, quoting Tony.

Slowly, like he wasn't sure about this, Stark raised the hem of the shirt he was wearing. It was admittedly much like the one Tony had worn all those months ago. First trim abs were revealed, then strange white veins and pinkish scars, then the arc reactor. It shone blue, just like Tony's, but the design… This one was completely circular. There was no triangle in the middle. It was incorrect.

Steve smirked and leaned forward, prepared his muscles to jump up and run for it. "Trick question," he whispered. Before the imposter could do anything more than blink stupidly, he was out of bed and ripping open the door that he had spied earlier.

"Jarvis, security windows!" the imposter shouted, still using Tony's voice. How could they know what he called his armor?

Metal came down over the windows faster than he could get to them. With his shield that wouldn't be a problem, but he didn't even have shoes, never mind that. Instead he skidded down the stairs and hoped there was something he could use.

Instead he found a lab, higher tech than he had ever seen and four editions of the Iron Man suit standing in a row. It was enough to stop him in his tracks. The details were imperfect, but too close to be a coincidence.

"Cap, listen, I'm not trying to fool you. I'm telling the truth. My name really is Tony Stark, this really is my home, and… It's not 1945 anymore," the Tony look-alike told him, walking slowly down the stairs with hands firmly at his sides. He was trying to seem like he wasn't a threat.

The information that got thrown at Steve made no sense. It made perfect sense. "What do you mean?" he asked guardedly. On instinct he shuffled to put his back to a concrete wall, not give this unknown variable a chance to hit him from behind.

Stark stopped near the stairs, gave him all the distance he needed. "You were under the ice for nearly seventy years, Cap. That's what I was trying to tell you. Oil drillers found the plane and called the feds. They defrosted you and called me for a place you can stay," he continued, eyes darting all over Steve's body, similarly watching for threats, "They were going to put on a little play, try to make you believe it was still the forties to break it to you easy or something like that. I vetoed that, by the way." He looked like he expected thanks for it.

Truthfully, Steve would have preferred it to this. He said nothing, only watched this unknown element.

"You'd have figured it out right away, gotten angry when no one told you anything, and then fought your way out to Times Square or something else crazy," Stark continued with a roll of his eyes. Was that fondness in his voice?

In a way, it all made sense. The unwelcome thought intruded that maybe this explained Tony.

For a moment they were at a standstill, neither daring to even breathe. Steve took the opportunity to stop and listen to his instincts. They had never led him astray before.

That smell of white hot metal and cloves invaded his nose again, and automatically his mind labeled this strange man that stood in front of him as Tony. It was Tony, but something was different. There was a variable that he hadn't figured out yet.

Steve felt his shoulders relax and his body leave fight-or-flight mode. "So, Tony, it looks like Howard got a late start on you. You're what, forty?" he guessed with a quick look-over. Tony had always been one to look younger than he really was.

"Aw, I'm hurt. Most people say thirty," Tony complained playfully. He too relaxed, taking a few steps closer and stuffing his hands in his pockets in a motion that looked habitual.

Unable to help it, Steve snorted. He too took a few steps forward, very nearly meeting the other man in the middle.

"Turning forty one soon," Tony admitted with a quirk of his lips.

"I won't tell," Steve promised dryly. Automatically his mind tallied up the information and came to a startling conclusion: this was Tony before they met. It explained everything, all those little gaps in tech and knowledge that had been inexcusable before, except that he'd never heard of anyone successfully utilizing time travel before.

They had four years or so to go. He had time to investigate.

"I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot," Tony said conversationally, and offered a tan, calloused hand. "Tony Stark." His smile was friendly but his eyes were cautious.

"Steve Rogers," the Captain returned, and shook it. His hand dwarfed the other, just like he remembered.

"Jarvis, security windows can go," Tony called out.

The hall and lab filled with light as the metal shades lifted themselves. Everything gleamed like cut diamond.

"What do you say to lunch? Anything you want," Tony offered with a grin. He took a small rectangular device with a glass screen from his pocket and started swiping at the screen with his thumbs.

Pizza sounded good. So did stew. Or dumplings like they had in Poland. A full explanation sounded better.

Apparently Tony took the long silence as an indication that he didn't know, because he began babbling about the wonders of Chinese food.

"That sounds good," Steve cut in.

Tony tapped the screen several times and put it to his ear. Was it a phone? He ordered the whole menu, literally, and charged it to his Visa, whatever that meant, before he tapped the screen again and put it away. "So, what do you want to know?" he asked.

* * *

Ever since Cap was discovered, Tony's entire life had gone nuts. More than usual, anyways.

The man himself was possibly the biggest mystery that he had ever come across. First he knows Tony's name, then he doesn't believe that it's him. Somehow he knew about the arc reactor, even though only Pepper knew and she certainly didn't tell. And why did the lab stop him in his tracks?

The explanation about being psychic would make sense, except that it didn't. Psychics are frauds and Cap seemed to hate dishonesty.

Now here he was, making most of the ordered food disappear down his throat as he gazed in wonder at Tony. It made him feel a little self conscious.

"Is there something on my face?" Tony asked when he caught Cap- Steve- staring again.

"No, no, just… hard to believe I'm here," Steve answered, shaking his head. The tips of his ears went pink.

That, Tony could understand. When he got back from Afghanistan, he felt the same way for days. "I know the feeling," he said after he swallowed a piece of crab.

For a little while they continued to eat in silence, but nerves crowded Tony's stomach. There was nothing else for it, he had to say something. "Listen, I need you to not say anything about the arc reactor," he told Steve with a wry twist of his lips, "It's a secret. Only two other people know, Pepper and Rhodey, and you're the only ones who can know." He made sure to emphasize the importance of this, use the sincere eyes and everything.

"Why?" Steve asked. He put down his fork in favor of paying full attention to his dinner companion.

Tony took a moment to formulate his answer. "It's the most advanced technology in the world right now, and it's keeping me alive. Somebody's already taken it out and left me to die. I can't do that again," he said. Conspicuously, he left out that it was killing him and maybe that was the easy way out.

"Is there a way to fix what's wrong?" The question almost made Tony laugh. If only.

"Not that won't kill me," he answered with a twist of his lips. In a grotesquely obvious change of subject, Tony said, "So, about 2011. The Allies won the war, there was a stalemate against the USSR, which crumbled in the nineties, we had wars in Vietnam and Korea, and we're currently engaged in the Middle East. All races are equal, women have full rights, and technology does everything from keep your food cold to space travel. Any questions?" He fully expected a stunned, stuttering diatribe. Tony used his best expression of innocence as he resumed eating.

"Where's the restroom?" Okay, somehow that one was unexpected.

As Tony gave directions (down the hall, on the left) he allowed himself a grin. Wasn't this refreshing? Now all he had to do was be a discourteous host so that he could be a less discourteous host and keep from dying.

That was actually very easily done. Steve was content to be left to himself, after a brief explanation of what things did and some of the more common symbols. The power buttons on remotes and electronics required about five minutes by themselves.

It was a surprise when knocking disturbed Tony from testing plutonium. He looked up and realized that the whole day had wasted away, only stars shining in his windows. At the glass wall was Steve, holding a plate with an expression of concerned amusement.

Tony ordered the door opened. "Hello, Cap, what can I do you for?" he asked casually, setting the chunk of plutonium down safely.

"You haven't eaten since breakfast," Steve answered. He set the plate down on an empty space at the workbench, thankfully far from the radioactive substances.

When Tony looked, he saw bacon, eggs, toast, baked beans and fried tomato slices. "You made me food?" he asked, surprised. Dare he say it, he was touched by the effort.

"What I could," Steve answered sheepishly.

"Thanks. Now, I'm working with some highly toxic substances, so you should probably leave," Tony told him, not as brusquely as normal. The way to a man's heart was through his stomach, after all. And that food smelled damn good.

Steve was perfectly happy to skedaddle.

The moment the doors shut after him, Tony sighed and looked at the plate. That man was too good to be true. He ate while he worked and set the plate on a table by the door to bring up later; for now he had more elements to examine.

Every single one of them were useless.

It took nearly a week for Tony to run out of materials and combinations to test, with no results. He was going to die. Slowly, probably painfully, and not at all in a way he wanted to.

Looked like it was time to get working on that bucket list.

Arrangements were made for the annual art sale, including his own collection. Honestly Tony was happy to see them go. Pepper picked them out, but better paintings could have been made by a cat.

Plans were made for the Stark World Expo to have one final run before there were no more Starks to keep it going. Not that Tony told anyone that last part. No, he kept his impending death very nicely to himself.

Sometimes he thought Steve suspected. It was eerie how observant the man was, knowing things he had no business knowing about from just a glance at the right moment. Like Iron Man.

"So those suits, are they just yours, or can anyone use one?" he asked one day when he brought lunch down to the lab as had become usual. Instead of just dropping it off, he had sat on an empty stool with his own plate and began eating. The blue eyes that always made something weird happen in Tony's chest were staring right at him, blinking innocently.

Tony wasn't buying it. "Kind of. Only authorized people can get in them," he answered anyway. That meant him and Rhodey, though he never told his friend that.

"That's probably a good thing," Steve said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. No, something was bothering him. He was worried.

"What's eating you, Gilbert Grape?" Tony asked bluntly. There was no time to pussyfoot around anymore.

For a moment Steve blinked in confusion, but he quickly figured out the phrase. "I guess I'm a little overwhelmed," he answered softly, "It's a whole new world and it moves so fast. It's like I'm riding a bike and the rest of the world are in jet planes flying ahead so fast I can't catch up." His eyes were wistful as he watched Tony eat.

Chewing slowly, Tony thought about what the other man said. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked, knowing that he would do anything he was asked. The idea made something twist anxiously in his gut.

"Having you here with me helps," Steve offered with a shy smile. The caution and longing in his voice made Tony's chest hurt. The man wanted nothing more than to get home, it was obvious, but here he was saying nice things about his decidedly rude, antisocial host.

That was it, Tony decided. Putting aside his plate, he grinned with the idea that had just entered his brain. "Wanna go for a fly?" he asked, jerking his head toward the suits.

"They fly?" The wide-eyed awe in Steve's face was inspiring.

"Yep! All you'd have to do is hold onto me and pray that the guy who usually uses the suits doesn't kill me for it," he joked. Steve already knew about his arc reactor. The truth about Iron Man was too much to trust another person with.

It was in vain. "You love yourself too much to kill yourself," Steve snorted, but the second he realized what he said, he clamped a hand over his mouth.

Tony stared in silence at Captain America, wondering if he really was psychic. The suits didn't look to be his size, bulky with armor and weapons. It even added seven inches onto his height, both to throw the media off and have room for his thrusters and helmet padding. So how did Steve know?

"I shouldn't have said that about you," Steve said apologetically, staring down at his feet now. The pink in his ears was adorable.

"I won't ask why you think it's me that's usually in there," Tony replied, trying to imply again that it's someone else.

This time, Steve rolled his eyes. "Would you trust someone else with these?" he asked dryly.

The answer was obviously no. Tony knew himself well enough that he would probably destroy the suits before he gave up control of them to anyone other than Rhodey. Except maybe… It gave him food for thought even as he bobbed his head in concession. "Can't tell anyone about this either," Tony said as he shoved the plate away half full.

With a startled noise, Steve nodded. "Why? I would have thought it was common knowledge," he said, following Tony over to the platform where the suit was usually assembled around him.

Tony barked out a laugh. If only. When he went with the story on those cards, he had doomed himself to a cage of his own design. After all, he had been the one to imply that Iron Man was his bodyguard in the first place. "JARVIS, suit me up," he told his computerized butler.

"Might I remind you that-" the polite British voice began.

"Don't care right now," Tony interrupted. He shot a glance at Steve as the armor pieces zoomed toward him, hoping that he hadn't given too much away.

Instead the man watched the suiting up process with a combination of curiosity and… why did he look worried? The expression was familiar after days of not coming out of the lab for more than using the toilet, much to Steve's disapproval. It was in the little line between his eyebrows and the stiffness of his chin.

"What?" Tony asked as the last of the body armor was put on.

"It's a little slow," Steve answered quietly.

That much, Tony had to concede. He had to shut up while the helmet was put on, but the moment that was done he activated the speakers. "I was working on that before I got on my latest project," he said in Iron Man's familiar tinny voice.

Was that a shiver he saw go down Steve's spine?

Yes, it most definitely was. But was that fear or excitement? "Okay Cap, stand on my boots and put your arms around my shoulders so you don't burn your hands off," Tony instructed, watching the other man carefully.

This time there was no shiver, but he noticed the other man's ears were a delightful dark pink with the heat of his blush. Oh my. Did Captain America have a kink? This had to be thought over carefully.

As he stood on the boots, Steve looked down, worried that he was crushing them. When they held, he let out a quiet breath and held himself tightly to the armor. Like this his face couldn't be seen, but the surety with which he wrapped himself around Iron Man said a great deal.

Starting off slow, Tony hovered them over to the doors he usually flew from. He smiled when just this got a reaction, a faint gasp. Wait until they really started flying.

The moment they got out from under the overhang, Tony took off. He rocketed straight up at full speed, stopping right before freezing point and then hovered for a moment to let it sink it. They really were in the sky, above the clouds.

On the corner of the screen he noticed Steve reach out fascinated, toward the stars. If only.

Instead, Tony took a steep dive straight into the clouds. It was just condensed water vapor and he was used to it.

Steve kept a hand out to touch the clouds, using his superhuman strength to keep his grip on the suit with the other. Leaned out like this, his face could be seen. In the starlight his skin was white and hair a silver-streaked pale gold; the blue of his eyes was more breathtaking than ever.

Once out of that cloudbank, Tony lowered them to hover right below it for a prime view of the city. If Howard was right, the man was a prime artist. This should keep him inspired for days if not weeks.

"Tony, this is… amazing," Steve breathed as he looked down at the city below. His eyes were wide and he was grinning, amazed at the sight.

There was a strange light fluttery feeling in Tony's chest that made him panic. Oh no, not this. Not again, about the real thing. To distract himself, he warned the Cap, "Hold on tight, this ride is going to get wild." He chuckled when Steve wrapped both arms tightly around the armor again.

The city was suddenly in their faces. They skimmed alongside buildings close enough for Steve to reach out and touch, speeding between cars and through alleys before going back to the upper floors of the skyscrapers. When he passed a hand over the decorative plasterwork on the old Bank of California building, Steve laughed, long and loud. It was a final race against a helicopter, Cap waving at the camera crew inside with his face pressed into the armor's neck, before Tony flew them home.

Landing made Tony feel like he was still speeding ahead and would crash into the wall, as it always did, but he loved it. The rush of blood through his veins was worth the poisoning. "Gotta get the suit off," he told Steve regretfully. He wouldn't have minded having Cap wound around him like this for another hour or more (preferably without the armor) but it needed to come off.

Just as reluctant, Steve stepped off Tony's boots and released his shoulders. "That was... " he couldn't seem to find the words. Instead he stared off into space, looking the happiest that Tony had seen him so far.

"I know, right?" Tony asked cheerfully as JARVIS removed the suit components. It was what he loved most about the suit, that illusion of freedom.

"Ever since Romania I wanted to know what it would be like to fly without a plane. God, it was better than I hoped," Steve said, smiling brightly. When he turned to look at Tony, however, his face froze and he looked like he had been struck. He'd forgotten his worries and problems in the air, but the second he looked at his host again they were back like a clingy one-night stand.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Tony tilted his head to the side, wondering if it was something he did.

The smile Steve gave him looked painful. "It's nothing really. I just forgot… I'm not quite home after all," he said with a shake of his head. He was berating himself for being silly.

There was nothing Tony could say; he didn't even try. "You might want to get dried off. Those clothes can't be comfortable," he suggested instead. After going through the clouds, the man was soaked and probably freezing.

When Steve looked down at himself, it was like he had forgotten about it. "Oh. Yeah," he said, as if to himself. When he looked up again, at Tony, there was something warm in his eyes.

It felt like he just got electrocuted.

"Thank you," Steve told the inventor, before he gathered their empty dishes and left the lab.

Alone once more, Tony collapsed onto a stool and leaned his head back against a computer tower. What just happened? They were happy, giddy even, and then… He looked at his reflection in a darkened monitor.

Dark brown hair, mussed from his helmet, paired well with brown eyes that he had heard described as hypnotizing but right now just looked lost and empty. Palladium poisoning was beginning to turn his natural tan a sickly grey. Laugh lines were starting, crow's feet invading the corners of his eyes. Further down, he knew he would see a fairly nice neck and broad, strong shoulders, leading down to defined arms and then… his penance.

It was the work of a moment to remove his shirt to look at it. The veins popped out, unnatural silver and shining even brighter than the tender pink of his scars. In the middle, a bright blue light glowed that were it anywhere or anything else, he would be fascinated by. The very thing both keeping him alive and killing him.

For a few seconds Tony fingered the edge of the metal in his chest, wondering if maybe he should take it out. Let himself die quickly instead of dealing with the pain and humiliation coming his way.

The thought was shaken out of his head. That wasn't the way Tony Stark did things. He was too stubborn to give up so fast, and had every plan to go out with a bang.

"JARVIS, give Steve access to the lab," Tony called out to his computerized butler.

"Done, sir," JARVIS said serenely.

Tony took a deep breath, making sure he really wanted to do this. But he had to. Before he let himself die, he needed to settle the ownership of his suits. "Give him access to one of the suits, too," he said, closing his eyes in distress.

JARVIS reported that it was done. For being a computer, there was distinct worry in that British voice as he did so.

It was ignored. Instead, Tony patted his bots and went to work on altering the suits for their future owners. They'd each need their own power source. It wasn't like either Rhodey or Steve had an arc reactor in their chests.

* * *

When Pepper Potts arrived in the office, she expected to hear some kind of gossip about her employer, or his continuing to be a hermit. They wouldn't believe the truth even if they knew it, she thought as she listened with half an ear.

The sudden near-disappearance of one of the world's most talked about celebrities was a mystery the news still salivated over the tiniest rumors about. That he stopped his infamous conquests and numerous one night stands was on its own headline news. Pepper was well aware of why; it was impossible to keep the arc reactor secret while continuing his lifestyle of fast cars and faster women.

Then there were the questions about Iron Man, avoided with a sharp smile, a witty comment and a bat of his eyelashes. It was almost disgusting how much he could get away with like that.

Relief flowed through Pepper when she remembered that he was avoiding questions about Iron Man for an entirely different reason now. It wasn't him in the suit anymore, thank everything. No, another man had stepped up to be a hero, one whose face was unknown even to her; Tony had specified it in the contract, he told her with a grim smile when she asked to meet him.

When she walked past one of the many televisions in the office, however, she very nearly spat her coffee out. The current news report was on Iron Man, which was fairly normal. What was not normal was that it was a speculation about the gender and sexuality of the pilot, stemming from video of him carrying a man through the air for a joy ride.

Critically Pepper listened to the newscast and watched the footage, letting out a breath of relief when there was no property damage or any injuries. That made her work a little easier. Except who was the man, and what was he doing with Iron Man or Tony?

She had certainly never seen him before. And oh, she would remember a backside like that, never mind the almost impossible physique that his wet clothes clung to like a second skin. The one picture of his face that someone had gotten from a car they sped alongside was too blurry to make out much, but from the color proportions he was most likely handsome. What could be made out was his position: one arm wrapped tightly around the suit's shoulders and one extended in a wave at the camera, while his feet stood on the boots. That must have been difficult to maintain.

With a sigh, Pepper found herself backpedaling through the doors and telling Happy to take her to Tony's house. This had better be good.

What she got was something else entirely: a smell of eggs, bacon and toast wafting out of the kitchen to make her mouth water. Had Tony gotten a cook in the meanwhile? Whoever they were, she was thinking of asking for some of that.

What she found was a tall, blonde haired man with an almost impossible physique turning his head to smile shyly at her from in front of the stove. "Hello," he said with a faint Brooklyn accent, "You must be Miss Potts?" That he even knew her name was a surprise.

"Oh, yes, um, who are you?" Pepper stammered, completely unprepared for it. This must have been the man from the video. But what was he doing still… here? Or here at all?

"Steve Rogers. Nice to finally meet you," the man said, offering a hand across the kitchen island.

When she took it, her own hand was engulfed in his firm but gentle grip. His skin was like ice. "I'm flattered that you've heard of me," Pepper replied, still gobsmacked by this whole thing. Weren't Tony's days of one-night stands over? And even so, why was this one cooking breakfast? Unless he wasn't a one-night stand, but that was ridiculous…

The man snorted and rolled his eyes toward the staircase. "Tony talks about you a lot," Steve explained fondly, "Do you want some coffee or breakfast before you go down to find him?" He was awfully nice about this…

Pepper wasn't sure what to think, honestly. "I think some bacon would do," she compromised, having already drank her coffee. She was trying to cut down for her blood pressure. Being Tony Stark's PA wasn't working wonders on it.

"Have at it," Steve told her with a sheepish smile, pushing a plate piled high toward her. It was seriously stacked nearly a foot tall.

No matter that she would have loved to take the whole plate, Pepper allowed herself three pieces. "Thank you, Mr Rogers," she said politely, examining the newcomer further as she munched on a rather crispy slice.

"Not a problem, ma'am." He went back to the stove, whistling cheerfully as he poured eggs from a large bowl into a skillet that, if Pepper was correct, was covered in bacon grease. That couldn't be healthy.

As she watched and slowly ate, she took in the little gestures that defined a person. In this case it was the way Mr Rogers hummed an unfamiliar song to himself, the precise movements of his arms as he scrambled and then flipped eggs, the strangely old-fashioned way he dressed in khakis and plaid like he was from the fifties or earlier. Sure, he was good-looking (obscenely so) but not Tony's style. Her employer was generally caught bringing home women, or the occasional man, half his age from bars and having her escort them out the next morning.

"So Mr Rogers," Pepper began, determined to get to the bottom of this.

"Steve, please," the man interrupted with a sunny smile. He put more eggs onto what was already a huge pile of them, and then cracked more.

"Steve," Pepper tried again, and found that the name fit him, "What are you doing here?" She was intentionally blunt, wanting to know exactly what he had been told. It would be a nightmare if he got mad when she inevitably had to show him the door, it looked like he had footballs in his biceps.

"Of course he wouldn't tell anyone," Steve muttered, obviously not meant for her ears, before he clarified, "The government asked him to give me house room, from what I understand. They're trying to get me back out into the world." The look in his eyes was bitter as he turned back to the stove.

Okay, there went what Pepper had been thinking. "What?" she squawked.

"My circumstances are pretty unique. You might want to ask Tony more, since I'm a stranger and you probably won't trust a word out of my mouth," Steve told her with a sort of black humor that had undoubtedly made Tony very fond of him.

"Alright, I will," Pepper agreed, getting back to her original mission: question her boss. Relentlessly.

"Can you bring this down to him, please?" Steve requested, shoveling a mound of eggs, a pile of bacon and a stack of toast onto a plate. With a fork, some salt and pepper, and a glass of orange juice it went on a tray, which was pushed across the kitchen counter with a distinctly pleading look. Things must be awkward between them.

"Sure." Pepper indulged him, reaching for the tray. There was no way Tony would eat it, he just didn't ever eat, but it couldn't hurt.

"Oh, here." Steve loaded another plate onto the tray. This one had a few more slices of bacon. A mischievous wink and a second glass of orange juice followed.

Unable to resist the call of more bacon, Pepper thanked the man and took the tray down the stairs to the lab. On the other side of the security wall she saw Tony, looking less healthy and more harried than ever, dictating something to JARVIS. When he noticed her there, his face brightened up and he mouthed a command to let her in.

The doors slid open and Pepper was admitted. There seemed to be more random, misplaced components than ever around two new suits, each laying on a table in the middle of the room. Stats were wiped from the screen with a word from Tony.

"What can I do for you, Pep?" he asked, like he didn't know what kind of a media storm Iron Man had caused.

"Explain, now," Pepper demanded, laying her phone, and the tray, on the workbench in front of him. The screen featured a story about Iron Man's new, unknown (to the media) conquest.

When he looked at the headline, Tony smirked. "Must be a slow day," he mused, scrolling through the page.

"What is going on here?" Pepper asked, stressing the importance of these events. For Stark Industries, image is everything.

Finally, Tony seemed to take it seriously. He pushed her phone back at her and leaned back in his chair, back cracking as he did so. "The feds asked me to host Steve until he got back on his feet. Got back in touch with the world, I guess," he explained, pulling up files on the computer as he did so, "He wondered what it was like to go flying, so…" He shrugged, giving no further excuse. It was on a whim.

That made Pepper more upset than it should have. "You called your pilot over just to give someone a joyride?" she hissed. If she knew the pilot, she would have made a mental note to send him a fruit basket and make sure he got a bonus.

"Well, yeah. What else would I do, get in the suit myself?" Tony snorted and waved the thought off, going back to his screens.

"I would say I can't believe you did that, but I'd be lying," Pepper sighed, putting a hand to her forehead. If this was what she knew she was going to get when she came over, she would have skipped it altogether. "So who is Mr Rogers anyways?" That was what she wanted to know more than anything, seeing as he was the one in the kitchen with the knives.

"JARVIS, play file TFA two," Tony instructed in response.

A projector lit up and began to play a piece of wartime propaganda footage. A man in a helmet with an "A" on the forehead appeared to be giving instructions, pointing at people and then a map laid out on a truck hood. If the mask and the star on his chest didn't immediately tell Pepper who the man was, those who surrounded him did: the legendary Howling Commandos, plus a man who appeared to not be able to get out of the frame fast enough.

"What are you trying to say, Tony?" Pepper asked, tired of her employer's mind games.

"Captain Steve Rogers is Captain America," he answered all too gleefully.

"Tony, Captain America was made up to sell war bonds," Pepper responded regretfully. Even though he was at least a decade older than her, it still felt like telling a child that Santa doesn't exist.

"Okay, try this," Tony challenged. From a pocket on the inside of his hoodie he pulled a photo frame that Pepper knew well but had never really looked at. It seemed too personal.

Yes, even when she was taking off his soiled clothing before dumping him into his bed dead drunk, she had always thought that was too big an invasion of privacy. It was the one thing he never showed to anyone that she knew of. That he'd kept, obsessively, since before she knew him.

So when she took it, she knew that was possibly the biggest honor she could get. The back of the frame was littered with shrapnel from Afghanistan, one side burned and the corners all shredded with hard wear; it was older than she knew. Maybe even older than her. When she turned it around, she couldn't help gasping; it was impossible.

The photo was at least thirty years old, from the wear on the paper and the style of uniform the subject wore was from around World War II. But the man in the uniform… If it wasn't the same man making copious amounts of breakfast food, it was a creepy family similarity. Like Tony and his father, the one time Pepper actually looked at photos of them side by side. They had the same eyes, hair, nose… the same everything, except that the man in the photo positively glowed as he looked at someone outside the shot. Most telling, at this man's feet laid a round shield painted with concentric circles around a white star.

"Now do you believe me?" Tony asked with a smugly raised eyebrow.

Pepper hated saying that he was right, and every cell in her body denied it. But looking at this picture and remembering the man upstairs… "Let's say Captain America is, for some reason, upstairs cooking," she proposed, not sure if she should be encouraging this, "How did he get here?"

The answer was another video clip, taken from the helmet cam of the Iron Man suit. Seeing the same man frozen in a block of ice… It sent chills up her spine. No wonder he was so cold, she found herself thinking even before she saw the heart monitor hooked up to him. In the minute or so that she watched people in parkas wave heat lamps over him, there was one blip on the display. Each sent a ripple of shock through her. How could a man be alive in that state?

"He spent nearly seventy years in the ice. Now he's here. Can you keep this a secret too?" Tony asked seriously. Just like when he requested she keep his arc reactor to herself.

"Yeah," Pepper answered faintly, "Yeah… Not like anyone would believe me…" Everyone knew that Captain America had been dead since 1945. It was ridiculous to think that he was cooking (or eating) breakfast upstairs right now.

But the proof was right here in Pepper's hands. At least a form of it. She handed the photo back, watching as it was protectively tucked into Tony's hoodie. "I need to run some more research," she said, not entirely believing what was said to her, "But for right now… If he gives you any problems, I'm perfectly willing to boot him out for you." It was what she did anyways, but if this man has somehow managed to con Tony of all people… May heaven have mercy on him, because she will not.

The smile on Tony's face was dazzling. It was almost blinding, only tempered by Pepper having seen him at least somewhat happy before.

"Be careful," she urged, knowing that he won't listen. It was Tony, after all. Jumping in head-first was just what he did.

It's a bad idea to meet your idols, Pepper thought as she watched him habitually stroke the frame through his sweatshirt. All too often they had feet of clay. With the legends that had sprung up around Captain America since he was lost… No man could possibly live up to that.

All Pepper wanted was to not see her employer, her friend, hurt. He had already been hurt too much in his life.

"Thanks for the food, Pep." It was the closest thing she would get to an acknowledgement.

"If asked, I'll put in a notice about you and Captain-" Pepper was cut off with a wild-eyed panic she had only ever associated with the arc reactor after Stane.

"Steve. Just call him Captain Steve Rogers," he interrupted, shaking his head as he stuffed toast into his mouth, "The world doesn't know much more about Captain America than they do about Iron Man. I don't even know much and I live with the guy. Every answer I get, three more questions come with it." The smile he gave was flinty.

The thought was strange, but no matter how far back Pepper searched in her memory she realized that she had no idea who Captain America was before five minutes ago. Truthfully, she had grown up with the thought that he was a work of fiction. Hearing that he was a real man named Steve Rogers, and he was human enough to cook and eat, was dizzying.

"Hey, you okay? You're not getting sick, are you?" Tony asked, just as flippantly as every other day of the week.

"No, no, I just had all my preconceived notions about a historical figure upended, there's absolutely nothing wrong, nothing at all…" Pepper replied sarcastically, her voice getting progressively higher pitched as she spoke, with her rising hysteria. And she had thought that life as his assistant could get no weirder.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I freaked out a little too when he woke up and said I was dead," Tony told her cheerfully, leading her to a vacant stool with gentle hands on her shoulders.

Pepper took some steadiness from it. "What do you mean, said you were dead?" she repeated, not quite able to comprehend this on top of everything else. Tony looked perfectly alive to her, if in need of some sun.

"It's what he said. 'Tony, I'm home.' He wasn't even fully awake, thought he was dead. How did he know about me at all? And why did he think I was dead?" Tony stared into her eyes with those dark ones that she had been crazy about for so long, expecting an answer that not even he had.

The puzzle only got bigger, the longer that Pepper looked at it. "But how- when-" she cut herself off, preferring to rub her temples with one hand and eat more bacon with the other, "I won't pretend to understand any of it. What I really need to know is if this is going to become another mess I'll have to clean up after." The last thing she needed was to regulate a scandal involving Captain America of all people.

"You won't." It was the most honest that she had ever seen Tony look. So earnest, like a puppy.

More than anything, that was what convinced Pepper in the end. While sometimes he was a little kid in a grown up body, Tony wasn't stupid.

Pepper got to her feet, having made her decision. No matter how strange and unreliable Tony was acting, he was an adult. This was his home and his guest. "Remember Tony, he's just a man. Sure, he's a marvel of scientific engineering, but he's just as human as you and me. Everyone makes mistakes." She paused for a moment to try figuring out how to say what she meant. "Don't let it ruin you when he's not all you imagine." It would positively destroy him.

If anything, Tony looked even more gleeful. "Oh, don't worry about that. He's been here a week and if anything he's better than I ever expected," he said, beginning to chatter like some kind of drunken squirrel hanging off a downtown gutter. There was something bright and beautiful about him that reminded Pepper of exactly why she was so sure she was in love. It told her all she needed to know.

"You're in love with him…" Pepper couldn't keep her mouth shut when she realized it. Of course, the feelings she used to have were irrelevant. Not when compared to the paradigm of humanity. Though she did feel a little better when she realized that she couldn't have competed anyways, with her radically different equipment.

The look on Tony's face changed faster than a presidential campaign's slogan, from sappy happiness to deer in the headlights. It was more than enough confirmation, even without his protests that he has a type, that Captain Rogers very much does not fit. Which was a bold-face lie, since he went for tall blondes more often than not.

"No, no, it's fine. No hard feelings. But why aren't you doing anything about it?" Pepper asked, not quite believing she was having this discussion. She was asking Tony Stark, playboy extraordinaire, why he wasn't chasing Captain America like every skirt in New York (besides her). What had the world come to?

"He's _Captain America_ ," Tony answered in a voice that wondered if she was really that stupid.

"And he's stayed, made you food, and been very nice to me despite that you've probably been in the lab for the past week straight or longer and I'm the perfect candidate to take frustration out on," Pepper replied.

Tony didn't look convinced. It was times like this that made her want to bring Howard Stark back from the dead to kill him for what he did to his son.

"I need to head back to the office. But maybe take the chance?" Pepper suggested with a smile. In her shoes she crossed her toes.

With an indulgent, longing shake of his head, Tony saw her out of the lab and then went back to dictating to JARVIS. What he would do without that machine, she wasn't sure.

Up in the kitchen, Steve was eating the biggest spread she had ever seen. That didn't stop him from standing up when she entered the room. Knowing the whole story, the old style attire and enormous amount of food made sense now. The clothes may have even been forties vintage.

"It really was nice to meet you, Steve," Pepper told him with a cheeky smile.

"You as well, ma'am," he replied instantly. The smile he gave her, still shy but this time bright, told her that it wasn't just a formality.

"Call me Pepper," she advised as she walked out the front door. Once in the car, she admittedly squealed and did a little dance in the back seat. She was on first name basis with _Captain America._ Within a few moments she regained her cool and reclassified him as just another associate of Tony's, but a last thought intruded.

Smirking, Pepper realized that if she could tell him, Phil would be so jealous.


	3. Distress Signal

Thank you all for your fantastic response! Unfortunately the site is malfunctioning and I was unable to read the reviews on the review page, but I did have the emails to go off of. So thank you to **tigerlilly** , **Terri'smind** , **Zenoneel-Sarior** , **Pickles** , **br0kenztar** , **DoublePaws** , and **The 16 Pleiades** for your wonderful words of encouragement.

 **Zenoneel-Sarior** : First I laughed, and then I facepalmed because when I reread Eyes of Icarus there really was potential for a trio. Even worse, my fiance thinks I should do it. (He's a rabid Stark Spangled Soldier shipper.) This particular story will cover everything from Iron Man 2 to cleaning up the mess post-time travel, meaning that the Winter Soldier will definitely be in here. Otherwise, ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies. :P

 **NOTICE TO THE READERS** : Unless something comes up, a chapter will be posted every Friday until this is complete. Thanks for being so vocal about wanting to see this continued! It makes my day.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Distress Signal**

" _I finally figured out that not every crisis can be managed. As much as we want to keep ourselves safe, we can't protect ourselves from everything. If we want to embrace life, we also have to embrace chaos."_

― _Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Breathing Room_

The day of the Expo, Steve found his old army dress uniform laid out on his bed with a note. The familiar chicken scratch read, _If I have to dress up, so do you. Front door at two. -Tony_

Shaking his head fondly, Steve made a mental note to get the rest of his old belongings while they were in New York. He had already dawdled too long.

The thought was shoved to the side with another look at his old uniform. He had another expo to go to.

Being on a plane that wasn't about to crash-land and wasn't getting shot at was amazing. It may have been the new technology, but sometimes Steve was able to forget that he was in the air. Instead he found himself drawn into a card game with Happy, Pepper and Tony for most of the flight. Happy lost spectacularly and Pepper was good, but still too open with her expressions to play with people as observant as Steve and Tony. Between the two it was a tough game.

The genius won out; he'd probably been playing longer than Steve had been alive, not counting the deep freeze. At the end he cackled and gathered all the chips to himself with an evil little smirk. "No one beats a Stark!" he crowed.

Thank goodness Pepper had vetoed strip poker, Steve thought as he changed into his old uniform when they were passing over eastern New York. He wasn't wearing nearly enough layers to make that fair.

The thought of seeing Tony naked, even if it was just for a game, sent a bolt of heat through him that was expertly pushed down. Not the time for that.

No, it was time to watch Tony work his magic on the audience. And it really was magic.

Even though the suit was being piloted by JARVIS, the mannerisms were still Tony's own. There was no visual difference between the two that Steve could pick out, as he compared his experiences with Tony in the suit against the AI handling the suit with Tony standing precariously on its boots, waving at the cheering masses.

Admittedly, Steve was one of those masses. Memories of the last expo he went to flooded his mind, from a flying car to a recruitment tent. It was almost dizzying to see Tony onstage instead of Howard, to have Pepper at his side instead of Bucky. The two experiences overlapped tangibly in his mind until the speech began.

That was where Tony really differed from his father, Steve thought with a roll of his eyes. Howard had an ego with some to spare, but his son _was_ a big ball of ego. Yet the charisma was just as profound and made Steve almost not mind.

"Therefore, what I'm saying, if I'm saying anything, is welcome back… to the Stark Expo!" Tony finished, to massive applause. All things considered, it was a good opening. Even if the scantily clad dancers were a bit much, in Steve's opinion.

It felt like a kick in the gut for Tony to put on the opening his father had recorded for a previous expo. The last time Steve saw Howard, he was poring over blueprints in the lab he used to share with Tony. In the film he was noticeably older, balder, and far more tired than Steve had ever imagined he could look.

Every word out of his old friend's mouth was a painful reminder of what he had missed. Mentally, Steve apologized for not being there.

He didn't feel as guilty as he thought he should, instead getting up to find Tony backstage. Just like at Camp Leigh, he had already decided that Tony was worth it.

When he finally was able to wade through the crowd, it was to find Tony bent over a small device he had never seen before. In the mirror, his face was a horrible combination of desperate and sarcastic.

"Tony? Are you alright?" Steve asked, despite knowing the answer full well.

When Tony gave him a brittle smile and a popped, "Yep," he accepted it but did not believe. The device was tucked away into a pocket as he readjusted his jacket and sauntered from the room. "So, what did you think of the opening, old man?" he asked, teasing.

"It reminded me of the expo I went to back in '43, but more… you," Steve answered truthfully. Only a Stark could put another Stark's showmanship to shame.

"Glad I could live up to my reputation," Tony said with a bark of laughter, before they waded into a crowd of fans.

There were several phone numbers shoved into Tony's hands and a poster signed for a boy in a toy Iron Man helmet, which was unsurprising. It made Tony laugh and Steve splutter and blush when just as many scraps of paper and echoes of, "Call me," followed the soldier. Then someone pinched his backside and both hurried out of the crowd.

"How many numbers did you get?" Tony asked, amused, as he counted the many that had been shoved at him. He got to eight before he emptied his pockets of them, and fifteen after.

When Steve looked at his own hands, he blanched. "Uh, seventeen… And a nude picture. " He stuffed them in his pockets to dump in the rubbish once they were out of sight. Especially the picture.

Tony laughed so hard he choked. "Gotta love a man in uniform," he wheezed with an absolutely filthy grin in his companion's direction.

At the car they were headed toward, another pretty woman watched them keenly. This one had the expression of a predator in wait, analyzing them with cool brown eyes.

"I hope she comes with the car," Tony muttered wickedly.

Less than surprised, Steve sighed and opened the driver's side door for Tony. That kept him and the car door between them, because after Peggy he would never assume that anyone was weak on the basis of gender. "Can we help you, ma'am?" he asked politely.

"Yes, actually. I have this for Mr Stark," the woman answered with a smile, handing a packet of papers across the door.

"What's your name?" Tony asked flirtatiously.

Again, Steve rolled his eyes. He took the papers and dropped them in Tony's lap, unwilling to put up with the man's, "I don't like things being handed to me," bullshit. Then he closed the door, making it clear this was over.

"Marshall," the woman purred, the cat that caught the canary, "You've been served. You are hereby ordered to appear before the Senate Armed Services Committee at 9 AM." She looked proud of herself, for good reason. It wasn't too often one got something over on Tony Stark.

Immediately Tony's face fell into a serious expression. "Can I see the badge? I like the badge," he requested.

When the woman produced it, with a cold smile, Tony returned the expression. "Get in Spangles, it looks like we're going on a road trip," he called to the blonde.

With smooth movements, Steve circled the small car and slid into the passenger seat.

The woman thankfully backed away when the car started. It wouldn't do for her to get hurt.

"How far do you think DC is?" Tony asked conversationally as he got on the road.

"I don't actually know," Steve answered, watching the rear view mirror until the woman, and the expo, were out of sight, "The show always used the train. Gas was rationed." It went without saying that he had never left Brooklyn before then; he was too poor for it.

"My guess is about four hours," Tony said, putting his foot down to zoom onto the freeway. He drove like an absolute animal, dodging huge trucks and sliding through gaps that should have been impossible with ease.

The noise of the wind in their ears was near deafening, but Steve shouted over it anyways. "What do you think this is about?" There had been no doom bots or explosions or anything else exciting since he woke up in Malibu. So what could the senate possibly want so urgently?

"No idea!" Tony replied, looking for all the world as if he couldn't care.

It was only around Philadelphia that Steve convinced him to hand over the wheel, using his big innocent-looking blue eyes to his advantage. When Tony fell asleep less than half an hour later, Steve decided he made the right call. Instead of switching back at Wilmington, he let the other man sleep until they reached DC.

Thank God for his enhancements, Steve found himself thinking several times as Tony shifted and mumbled in his sleep. They meant that he needed less sleep than most people, in addition to everything else. That never stopped him from stocking up on calories or shut-eye when he could get it, but right now he was fine staying up until they got to where signs wouldn't help him.

It gave him too much time to think. About Tony, Pepper, Bucky, Howard… Love. Friends. Choices. Specifically, the choices that led him here and those he would make starting now.

Up until he woke up in this strange time and place, Steve had been fully confident in his choices. It was only now that he was starting to second guess himself. The differences he could see between the times were astounding and the learning curve extremely steep. Was this how Tony felt in the 40's?

Before he had been angry and hurt that his man hadn't trusted him. He understood now: Tony knew too much. There _was_ no one that the other man could have trusted with the truth beyond the basics, and even that was only on a need to know basis. Like the arc reactor.

The thought that Tony may have had to lie was troubling. A good deal of the time on the road was spent looking back on their conversations and wondering. It was shelved eventually; there were bigger fish to fry.

Currently, his biggest task (besides driving) was figuring out where to go from here. Every memory he had of Tony implied that they had no romantic relationship before 1943, but he had wanted it since… the future. It made something in Steve's gut shrivel up to know that the man he loves would return his feelings but if he wanted to keep the timeline intact, he couldn't give in.

The really big question, Steve thought as he narrowly avoided being hit by a fourteen wheeler, was whether he wanted to keep the timeline intact. Everything in him rebelled at the thought of changing it, because who knows what the consequences could be? But was it worse than losing Tony?

The way he saw it, the moment he lost his man to 1943 his life would be over. It had already been over for months as far as he was concerned. Until he woke up to this strange past version of Tony at his bedside.

Would he be willing to erase the best thing to ever happen to him, if it saved Tony from dying in agony before he was even born? Steve was ashamed that he couldn't decide.

* * *

By the time they got to the hearing, a crowd had already gathered and they were hungry for a quick quote or picture. They were like wolves, Steve thought with disgust as he helped security clear the way for Tony to get where he needed to go. That he was still in uniform probably helped.

Between getting to DC and reaching the courthouse, Steve had been convinced into stopping to get a shower at a hotel. He really didn't like the raised eyebrows and barely hidden smirk of the receptionist when Tony asked for a room, "just for a couple of hours so that they could freshen up." It was probably a well used excuse for a rendezvous. Even more likely that it was going to some sleazy tabloid.

If it bothered Tony, he didn't show it. No, he had put on his public persona and was charming anything and everything within eyesight.

Steve just tried to not be jealous. _He isn't yours anymore, he will never be yours again._

Shortly after the hearing began Steve realized that it was a farce. An enormous farce to get their hands on the Iron Man suit. Senator Stern even said, though his unmoving face slightly hampered his pronounciation, "My goal is to get the Iron Man weapon turned over to the United States military." That they weren't even making an attempt to hide what they were doing set alarms off.

There was an entirely verbal but still curious incident with a man called Justin Hammer, some sort of rival? Steve made a note to do research later. Business rivalries often turned sour, he remembered that much from listening to Howard complain.

The man had charisma, Steve could give him that. It was the draw of an overgrown schoolboy, too simpering to be anywhere near the static charge that hovered around Tony. That made his speech no less interesting, or informative. Transparent insults about Howard hid sly ones about Tony's own capabilities, no matter that everyone knew he was talking out of his-

As Steve was just getting into analyzing Hammer, a Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes was called up to testify. From Tony's surprised, "Rhodey?" he knew the man.

"Rhodey and Tony have been friends since high school," Pepper whispered into Steve's ear.

The trial only got more farcical, even with Rhodes's attempts to put it on the straight and narrow. It was outrageous.

And it only got worse, with the exposed attempts to make Iron Man suits elsewhere. The mere idea was enough to give Steve pause. Iron Man had been able to take on the deadliest opponent that Steve ever faced, and fight him to a standstill. If governments got a hold of legions of them…

If this committee won their case, Steve planned to help destroy any blueprints or equipment necessary. This was one thing he would not allow the military to get their hands on. Too much possibility for corruption, just like the Cosmic Cube.

Then Tony plied his talent with technology, which Steve would never stop being in awe of, and showed what was really going on. "Most countries five, ten years away. Hammer, twenty," Tony said with all seriousness. When he turned to watch the humiliation of his rival, the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his enjoyment of the turnaround.

"I'd like to point out that that test pilot survived," Hammer announced.

Steve snorted, and he heard Pepper make a noise of disgust. The way that suit attempt turned around, survival may not have been a consolation.

As the committee failed, Tony only grew in stature. "I'm your nuclear deterrent," he declared, and it sent shivers down Steve's spine. He was comparing himself to a device that the man out of time had only recently learned about, and he didn't like the thought. The technology race is fickle. Who knew when a nuclear deterrent wouldn't be enough?

That Senator Stern told the man, "Fuck you," only emphasized that this was a show. They didn't expect to be denied.

They obviously didn't know Tony, who was receiving a standing ovation.

Steve couldn't help it, he joined in on the applause from his seat. That was better handled than anyone else could possibly have managed, no matter how disrespectful. Tony did what he had to do, said what he had to say, and that was it.

Beside him, Pepper sighed and shook her head.

"What is it?" Steve asked while everyone else followed Tony out the doors. He turned toward her and put a hand on the arm of her chair, worried. Nothing gets Pepper down, as he was cheerfully told. So what was this about?

"Tony. He's been more and more unpredictable lately. Erratic. Short-sighted. I don't know what's happening and he won't talk to me about it," Pepper told him, just loudly enough for his super soldier hearing to catch.

It was something Steve had noticed too. When he had first woken up Tony was always there, making suggestions and fielding questions like he was happy just to be of value and notice. But now, the man was withdrawing to longer and longer hours in the lab, feverishly working on _something_ for days at a time and only coming out when he needed to restock the coffee machine every few days.

"I can't say I know him as well as you do at this point," Steve admitted painfully, "But I noticed too. I saw a ton of crates get shipped out and most everything was taken off the walls. I don't mind, but... that isn't like him."

"Somebody needs to talk to him," Pepper said outright. She looked to be at the end of her rope and fraying with the uncertainty.

Hoping he wasn't being too forward, Steve laid a hand on hers. "I can try," he promised.

The smile he got was fragile. "Thanks, Steve."

Neither of them noticed a camera snapping pictures of them.

* * *

Tony couldn't say what it was about the picture that made him so snippy at two of the best friends he had somehow managed to get. It was possibly how their knees knocked together, or that neither of them noticed. It was probably his hand on hers, covering it entirely. It was definitely how close their faces were, heads bowed together as they discussed something serious right there in the damn courtroom.

So when Steve came in with that face of determination, the same one that he wore in that stupid photo, Tony found himself wondering. How cruel could he be before the other man snapped back? How long before he left like all the others?

"Done doing whatever important things you've been doing?" Tony asked airily, ignoring the plate of french toast casserole that was put on a side table.

"Hm?" Steve was obviously blindsided, blinking owlishly as he tried to comprehend.

"Hiking the Appalachian Trail, whatever it is you and Pepper have been up to?" Tony added, unable to help his jabs at what he hoped to whatever was out there they weren't really doing.

"What's this-?" Steve shook himself out of his confusion, "Tony, we're worried about you." He glared around at the lab, seeing more broken bits and bobs than ever before.

Tony turned back to the screen he was working on so that he could roll his eyes in privacy. "Oh, thanks, I'm fine, you can go back to lifting her luggage," he said dismissively. If they did, he was sure he'd die a little faster.

"You are not fine, we can both see it. You gave away your art collection!" Steve exclaimed. He circled around to stand on the other side of the screen, unwilling to be ignored.

"I needed the tax write-off," Tony lied with a dainty little shrug.

"What's really bothering you?" Steve asked firmly.

For a moment Tony thought of telling the truth. Except that this was Captain America, the paradigm of truth and righteousness. No, he thought upon looking at the man standing in front of his workbench in a t-shirt and sweats, this is Steve: naive, pig-headed, and far too good for him. Instead, smirking, he cooed, "Don't even think that you can get to the bottom of this. I'm not a damsel in distress, I'm not a war to be won, and I'm not your concern. Go back to discussing Uganda and leave me alone to solve this." He was cold, cutting, and it hurt to see the light fade out of Steve's eyes.

They grew hard. "When you get your head on straight, I'll be upstairs," the man ordered, "And eat your damn food." He stormed out, each step hard enough to vibrate through the concrete floor.

To the outside world, especially the man he turned his back to as he left, Tony didn't appear to care about what just happened. Another person angry at him, another goal accomplished. It was his modus operandi: piss off anyone who got too close.

It wasn't until he was elbow deep in installing an arc reactor to the suit he intended to be Steve's that it hit him: the man hadn't said he was leaving. He said he'd be upstairs. Tony hadn't been as cruel as he could be, but somebody still stayed, even if it wasn't in the same room.

It was probably the reason he hadn't been quite so harsh on Pepper when she came by later in the day.

* * *

When Steve got booted from the lab, the first thing he did was call Pepper. "He denied all of it and told me to discuss Uganda and leave him alone," he reported stoically.

"Did he really tell you to go discuss Uganda?" Pepper asked flatly.

"Yes," Steve answered, trying to come up with anything else that could have meant. Nothing came to mind.

"Oh, I'm going to murder him," Pepper hissed. It seemed like overkill.

"What? Why?" Steve realized they were getting off track and tried correcting that, "Never mind, I can find out later. I failed. Your turn." He hoped that she would get a better reaction than he did. If he was right, Tony would probably have tossed the plate rather viciously at the wall by now.

On the other end of the line, he got a sigh. "I can come by in an hour. Stay safe and keep him from doing anything too stupid until then, okay?" Pepper requested tiredly.

"Roger that," Steve agreed. They said their goodbyes and he tapped the red icon that he had learned meant 'stop', or 'end' or similar things.

Alone once more, this time without Tony to pester, Steve felt a little lost. "JARVIS?" he called. He sat on the sofa, curled up as tightly as he could to try to comfort himself.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?" the voice answered. It was still strange to have a male British voice come out of nowhere.

"Can you put on more 'Cosmos'?" Steve requested.

"Of course." The television turned on and the show began playing, the narrator's voice soothing his nerves slightly.

Steve knew he shouldn't have stormed out like that. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted to achieve. But the way Tony put on that mask and gave him that unfeeling, mocking smile… He missed _his_ Tony more than ever.

It felt remarkably like he was in one of those stupid romantic comedies that Pepper had put on his list of movies to survive the modern age. He couldn't remember what the name of it was and didn't really care. All he wanted was _his_ Tony, and maybe some ice cream.

The latter part was an easy fix, he thought somewhat optimistically, when he pried himself off the sofa. There were at least five kinds of ice cream in the house at all times. Thank God for large freezers.

So it was that he was found by Pepper Potts an hour and a half later, now watching 'Bewitched', with a pint of Phish Food ice cream and a blanket cape. "Hi Pepper," he said, realizing with some chagrin exactly how he looked.

"I really am going to kill that man," she muttered and stormed down to the lab.

While she was out of sight Steve turned the volume down, just in case. Normally he would never even think that Tony would do anything… distressing. But it was getting increasingly obvious that he was becoming someone else in his preoccupation, and Pepper was a civilian.

In the middle of his debate with himself, the object of his thoughts reappeared. For some reason she had the famed thousand yard stare, which immediately set more alarms off. "Pepper?"

She mumbled something that not even his hearing could pick up and seated herself primly on the sofa.

"Pepper, are you with me?" Steve asked more seriously. He waved a hand in front of her face.

That seemed to snap her out of it. "Wha- oh." She put a hand to her chest, startled.

"Sorry," Steve apologized with a tight smile, "What happened down there?"

Again, Pepper muttered, but this time he heard: "He made me CEO."

Ice flooded Steve's veins. "He gave you his company?" he asked incredulously, praying he heard wrong.

The nod that Pepper gave was unwelcome.

"So he's out of control, having the mood swings of a pregnant woman, giving away his property…" Steve listed out. He couldn't help getting up to pace. This was too much, even for him.

There was no answer; Pepper still stared straight out ahead of her. Likely, she hadn't heard a thing he said.

"JARVIS, can you call Happy to pick up Pepper? I don't think she's safe to drive," Steve called out to the amazing computer.

"Of course, Captain Rogers," JARVIS responded, "He is on his way." Never had there been a machine quite so blessed as JARVIS, in Steve's opinion.

"Thank you, JARVIS." Steve helped the woman to her feet and out to the car, only trading a grim smile with the chauffeur as he circled to the front door. They were all worried about Tony. But somehow, Steve was the only one able to do anything about it still.

With a sigh, he watched the car speed away into the evening.

It was time to confront Tony again.


	4. Off to the Races

I was supposed to publish this chapter tomorrow, but it looks like you're getting it early. I need to reach you readers too much to wait for any tomorrow. This is important.

In response to the big reveal that Marvel comics put out yesterday, I want to assure those of you looking at this chapter that I'm not buying it. I refuse to acknowledge HYDRA Cap as canon. I refuse to write the real Steve Rogers as anything other than the little guy from Brooklyn who would stand up to a bully no matter where they're from or how many of them there are, and would get up to fight again no many how many times they knock him down. I would write a life model decoy, a skrull, a brainwashed Cap that way, but never the real thing. I promise.

Please don't let Marvel get away with this. Boycott the films, don't buy the merch, and throw a royal bitch fit on every single form of social media you have access to. Stand beside that river of truth and tell the writer of this horrific thing, "No, you move." Because Cap deserves better, because Chris Evans deserves better, because we all deserve better than this.

I dedicate this chapter to Jack Kirby and Joe Simon, the original creators of Captain America. They made a golem figure, a protector of the Jewish people, in response to Nazism. We will take this character back and return him to what you meant him to be, I promise.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright. Needless to say, Cap would not have been made into a fucking Nazi if I did.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Off to the Races**

" _They say a person needs just three things to be truly happy in this world: someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for."_

― _Tom Bodett_

When Pepper left, Tony allowed himself to slump over onto his workbench. Dying was an exhausting process and he really wished he could just skip to the end of it already. Kind of.

As he looked over at the armors he had been working on for the past several days, he allowed himself a grim smile. Rhodey's was complete, just unarmed. The arc reactor on Steve's should be finished that night. He just had to hang on a little longer.

The thought was rattled from his head by the lab door opening. Was Pepper back already?

"Tony, we need to talk." Fuck. It was Steve again.

"What's there left to talk about, Spangles?" Tony asked with a sharp smile as he stretched and then flitted back to the armor he was altering. Before he could pick up his tools, a large hand wrapped around his wrist. Immediately his heart started beating out a samba and he prayed Steve couldn't feel it under his icy fingertips.

From the look on the blonde's face, he either didn't notice or was ignoring it. It was the same look as when he first woke up and thought Tony was lying. "You're being ridiculous," Steve answered bluntly.

"In case you haven't noticed, that's just me," Tony said, giving a pretty little smile that as a kid had always made him look just a little girly. As an adult it had become a good way to make people laugh and drop whatever topic he didn't want to talk about.

For a split second he could have sworn that the corner of Steve's lips twitched. Then he was back to being serious, face set in that hard Captain America expression that made Tony's heart beat a little faster and his pants get a little tight with the intensity. "More than usual," Steve amended. "You gave Pepper your _company_ , Tony. If that's not reason to worry, I don't know what is."

Admittedly, the Cap made a good point. It would be so easy to admit what was going on. Two little words could explain everything, dissolve most of the tension that hung heavy between them and they could make the most of the last few months of Tony's life. Might even be able to save it; not even he had been able to get any vibranium to test, and maybe Steve would let him take a couple of microscopic samples.

But then he'd have to see those pretty blue eyes sad for however much time he had left. He'd have to put up with being treated like glass and Steve pretending that _really, I'm fine Tony, you worry too much about me_ as he tried to get him to see doctors that wouldn't be able to do a damn thing. He'd have to watch the hope leave and he couldn't stand that.

"I just don't want to deal with the damn paperwork anymore," Tony grumbled. Even if he wasn't dying he might have handed over the company just for that reason.

Steve's smile was grim and there was an unusual shine to his eyes before he blinked. "When we were in DC, I put in a request to have my old things delivered here. On a hunch, I requested Howard's too," he said, the change of topic unexpected, "I thought you might like to have them. He had some interesting ideas."

"As much of a dick he was, he was a genius," Tony acknowledged bitterly. If anyone had other possibilities, it would be his dear old dad.

"If there's anything I can do to help- anything at all- let me know." There was a faint twitch of Steve's lips and a sad look in his eyes when he left the lab, Tony silent with shock behind him.

Alone now, the inventor looked from the doors to the suit and back again. "What's the expected arrival date on Howard's effects?" Tony questioned. He went back to his tools, planning to finish this and then go upstairs and hopefully find his favorite super soldier.

"Between eight and ten tomorrow morning," JARVIS answered.

Okay, Steve would be awake for that. The man seemed to sleep as little as Tony did.

For the first time in days, Tony had a sliver of hope. Even if he couldn't find anything in his own research, maybe there was something in Howard's notes.

* * *

The day after their confrontation found Steve poring over his old belongings. There was a copy of his costume and one of his dress uniform, several sketchbooks, letters, and boxes for medals that he never really opened. It all looked just like the last time he saw it, when he sealed the foot locker closed with the intention to not come back for it.

Aside of the crates that belonged to Howard Stark, there were also two more army foot lockers: Tony's and Bucky's. The thought of his best friend was still too painful, so Steve put that one under the bed until he could find the strength to open it. With trembling fingers, he went through the other.

There were very few belongings in it. Most had been given away in his will, Steve remembered, a book and his tools to Bucky, and his portfolio and the arc reactor to Howard.

Wait. Howard. Arc reactor.

The thought was enough to make his eyes go wide, and Steve sprinted down to the workshop where he had put the crates for Tony to go through later. Hastily he rummaged through the storage containers one by one. If the arc reactor that he had smashed was still in there, they'd have a lead.

It wasn't until he was on the fourth crate that he found what he was looking for. In a foam lined box, a piece of metal smaller than his fist glinted, smashed beyond almost all recognition but too good to be true right now. Reverently, Steve lifted the box out and onto the table.

That done, Steve took a deep breath and let out a shaky laugh. If he hadn't already been a little mad, his life now would do it quickly.

As Tony wasn't up yet, he went back upstairs to go through the rest of his inheritance. No matter how strange the concept was, as the very man he had received it from was snoring in his own bedroom.

Calmer now, Steve catalogued everything in Tony's locker. There was an extra set of clothing and one of boots, a dress uniform (that he remembered being very well fitted), and several boxes that must have contained medals. A battered leather journal was tucked in beside the briefcase that folded out into the Iron Man armor; when Steve flipped through it, he found page upon page of chicken scratch writing with grease or blood sometimes staining the paper. His own name jumped out at him a huge amount, but he saw Bucky's even more often. For the moment, the journal was put aside.

With shaking hands Steve removed the Iron Man armor from the foot locker and ran his fingers over the cold metal. It was dusty and old, but hopefully would work if needed.

Memories poured through Steve as he handled the technology that had been so far ahead of his time. The first time he saw Tony in that alley. The fight with the Winter Soldier. The promise to go flying when Tony could find a way to recharge the suit.

When he realized that Tony had managed to keep that promise even before he made it, Steve let out a watery laugh. How was this his life?

An idea struck him. "JARVIS?" he asked the all-knowing AI.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"How would I charge and make any repairs necessary to an Iron Man suit without Tony knowing?" Steve asked, praying there was a way. There must have been a reason it was left to him instead of being destroyed.

The instructions were surprisingly simple: take it down to the lab, unpack it on the landing pad, and enter a certain sequence of numbers, then a password, on the screen that pops up. As he worked (and hoped Tony didn't come in just yet) Steve actually felt hopeful that he could do something with this.

"I must ask, Captain, how is it that you have an Iron Man suit with my own coding inside of it that sir has not yet made?" JARVIS asked once the machinery accepted the suit.

"Time travel," Steve answered, walking back to the crates to unpack further, "You can't tell anyone about this, JARVIS." He couldn't even begin to imagine the nightmare if the world at large found out.

It wasn't even thirty seconds later that a sleepy Tony stumbled into the room. "Steve? I thought you'd be making breakfast," he commented with a jaw cracking yawn.

"It's past lunch," Steve answered with a look at his watch.

Tony shrugged and allowed his eyes to wander through the lab, lighting up when he saw all the new toys and papers. "Unpacking for me? How sweet," he said evenly as he dove into a box.

Between the two, everything was on various tables and benches within the hour. "There are also three models of the Stark Expo of '74 over there." Steve pointed at the huge boards leaned carefully against a wall.

Most of the day besides dinner (Steve was insistent) and sleep (even more so) was spent buried in notes and papers. There wasn't much Steve could do except provide some context for the stranger and more baffling inventions, so he organized it all in piles of 'inspected' and 'not inspected'.

It took Tony nearly a month to find the broken arc reactor, which had gotten buried under a mound of paperwork somehow. "What's this?" he asked, holding it up.

Seeing it back in Tony's hands made Steve's heart speed up. It was right where it belonged. "I don't know for sure," he lied, "but it looks familiar." He wanted to say exactly what it was, but he bit his tongue and waited for the other man to figure it out. Saying too much would be disastrous.

Tony mumbled to himself as he poked at the inner workings, before he went still. "Is this… No, it can't be," he said, shock making his face go blank.

"What?" Steve asked, even though he knew.

"It looks like an arc reactor. One that somebody smashed up good," Tony answered, examining it further.

"Think it might help?" Steve asked hopefully. If anyone could figure out how to recreate this miracle of technology, it would be Tony.

"Might…" Tony muttered and took it to his workbench to continue prodding at.

More at peace than he had been for weeks, Steve gave his man's back a soft smile before he left the lab for the day.

No, instead he finished looking through the old foot locker. The only thing he hadn't gotten to was a letter that had been hidden behind the Iron Man armor. It was labeled 'Tony' in Howard's messy script and unopened.

For several minutes, Steve debated over whether he should open it. That would be a huge breach of privacy since the intended recipient was actually alive, but Howard had known that Tony's possessions would all go to him.

In the end, curiosity won out. The letter read,

 _April 24, 1945_

 _Tony,_

 _You're one slick son of a bitch. I have to say that before I get on to business. It's too impressive to risk forgetting to tell you._

 _I'm not sure how long my memory will hold out. Everyone but Steve has forgotten you and the details are slipping from me faster than I thought possible. It's why I'm writing this now instead of waiting to see you again before I tell you._

 _When we met, I thought you were an asshole of the highest caliber. When I saw that you were just as brilliant as you were arrogant, I let it go. Geniuses like us rub people the wrong way more often than not._

 _Things still didn't add up. I don't believe in God, and I don't believe in psychic powers, but you knew too much. It wasn't until I looked in a mirror and saw you over my shoulder that I realized exactly what happened. Time travel, huh?_

 _You must have known you were going to die. If I'd known, I would've strapped you to a chair safe in the lab until that mission was over. You'd grown on me, see? And no parent should have to bury their child._

 _I gave Steve the shovel talk, you know. Hurt him and you die, and all that jazz. I should've given it to Barnes too. I didn't realize he would have been the one to do it, or else I probably would have killed him myself._

 _Barnes went not long after you did. I think the guilt might've been too much. I can't say I'm not still angry at him. Partly because he took the easy way out, and partly because it made Steve a walking corpse._

 _He was destroyed when you died. He barely sleeps anymore, doesn't smile, just wanders the base like a ghost. I think when you died, in a way he died with you. I don't think he'll survive much longer. The only thing keeping him going is revenge. Once that's complete… I don't want to think about what he'll do._

 _But no matter what happened, I'm grateful that I got a chance to meet you and see the man you'll become. It isn't often a man gets to be one of his son's peers and really know what he's made of. Stark men are made of iron, I've always said, and you have more steel in you than any of us._

 _I can't wait to meet you the proper way, even if I won't remember what you'll become._

 _Your father,_

 _Howard_

By the time he finished the letter, Steve was trying to not cry. There were already numerous splotches where Howard's tears made the ink run.

Well, his old friend hadn't got it wrong. From everything that he'd seen, Starks really were made of iron. The name Iron Man was ironic in that sense.

Darkly, he mused that Howard was more spot-on than he knew in his assessments. While what led to Bucky's fall was all bad luck and there was nothing to be done, the fall itself was on purpose; their hands had connected yet his friend allowed it to happen. Less innocently, Steve had known exactly what he was doing when he crashed into the ice. Wherever Bucky and Tony went, he would follow.

For a brief moment, Steve wondered what he would have done if he was there to see the end of the war. He shook his head and folded the letter, then gently replaced it in the envelope. It was obvious.

He would have tried to reintegrate himself into civilian life, and when that failed he would have blown his brains out with his Colt.

But that was neither here nor there. Like it burned him, Steve dropped the letter back into Tony's foot locker and went for the journal. He delicately fingered the leather spine and crinkled pages.

Before he could convince himself out of it, Steve opened the book to the first page and read,

 _Mar 17, 43- Accidentally landed now when fighting WS. He escaped into Brooklyn. I'll find Steve and stick with him until I know more. Too dark and quiet on the street._

Each entry was similar, mentioning Steve or Bucky in nearly every one. Apparently he had to use his future knowledge to convince Dr Erskine to recruit him, managing to skip the medical exam. Then there was the entry from the day of Project Rebirth.

 _Jun 22, 43- Figured it out. WS is here to commit suicide. Plans to kill Bucky before train, maybe before Azzano. I will try to be attached to the 107th to keep that from happening. Hopefully arc reactor won't be discovered when captured. Don't want to leave Steve but have to until jailbreak._

That was the longest entry so far, and made Steve's chest hurt more than any of the others. It was a rollercoaster of emotion to read about what his beloved had thought and felt during those days, even in tiny entries a few words long.

Reading the words that the future version of Tony had inscribed was enough to move him into action.

It was time to make sure Tony survived long enough to write this.

* * *

Not much could surprise Natasha Romanoff and she took pride in that. She could read people like books, gauging their darkest secrets and convincing even more out of them (and their machines) until she had what she needed. Combatants very rarely took her by surprise, whether in dark New York alleys or blazing Irani deserts.

Tony Stark was no exception. While he was handling his impending death better than expected, he was still the arrogant, self-absorbed womanizer that had been described so often. Admittedly he was just as smart as they all said, perhaps even more so, with a poker face most spies would be proud of.

The rest of those Natasha had been briefed on were just as she was told. Pepper Potts was a formidable businesswoman, tough as nails at the negotiation table and the most capable CEO that Stark Industries ever had; she also had insomnia and anxiety attacks from the stress. Happy Hogan had just proved himself to be capable (for a normal bodyguard) and gutsy but not exactly a gentleman. Colonel James Rhodes, she hadn't met yet.

Of all the people in the world, it was Captain Steven Rogers who surprised her. Profile said that he was the sort of sickeningly good man that Natasha hadn't believed existed, patriotic and believing that humanity is, at its core, good. He probably saved cats from trees and walked old ladies across the street, too.

At first meeting, Stark dragged her over to meet him. "And this is Steve Rogers," he introduced with a bright smile, "Steve, this is Natalie Rushman, my new PA now that Pepper got promoted." He looked from one to the other approvingly as they shook hands.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Rogers," Natasha said with a polite smile. It was difficult to not call him Captain.

"We'll probably be seeing a lot of each other," Rogers returned. The minute his hand touched hers, he went stiff and his face froze slightly. Before Stark was able to see it, he put on a mask of gentle geniality that didn't reach his suddenly cold blue eyes.

Stark went back to his boxing practice with a, "Play nice, kids," and an obnoxious smirk at the blonde.

Though Rogers rolled his eyes, it was decidedly fondly. The moment his friend was busy, he turned back to Natasha with one of the coldest expressions she had seen since she left the KGB. "Don't even try telling me you're not dangerous," he told her, accepting no bullshit, "Every cell in my body is screaming so and you're not doing the best job of hiding it."

Not giving anything, Natasha simply tilted her head to the side.

Smile unfriendly, Rogers leaned in to loom over her more effectively. He was using every weapon he had this side of a physical altercation to try to intimidate her. "If you hurt Tony, you'll be lucky if the fish find you," he stated, like he was talking about the existence of the sun.

"Hey Spangles, no canoodling with the PA!" Stark called from the ring, distinctly annoyed.

In a moment of true mood whiplash, Rogers looked over his shoulder with a wide grin. "Nice try, Tony! Nothing's happening!" he returned with a shake of his head.

"Well get over here, if nothing's happening!" Stark said with a pout.

With a last glare to Natasha, Rogers _turned his back_ and walked away. He didn't even look back.

It was difficult to resist the urge to take advantage of that. Natasha had just been given one of the biggest insults possible, and she hated it. He was telling her that she wasn't a threat worth even a thought, not strong enough to take him in a potshot.

For a moment Natasha stood watching the two men. Now that they were both in the ring, Rogers warming up and Stark taking a drink of something green, they almost glowed. There was no more pouting, no more glaring, just big smiles and teasing comments. If she didn't know better she would think there was something going on.

On the way out with Potts, Natasha took advantage of her status as a newcomer to ask some questions. "I'm sorry, I have to ask, but who exactly is Mr Rogers?" she asked politely.

Potts smiled over at her. "I can see why you would be curious. Things looked pretty intense over there," she commented, before she answered, "As far as I'm concerned, he's one of the best things to happen to Mr Stark in a long time. Makes him eat and sleep on a regular basis and everything." She seemed rather impressed with that feat.

"I mean…" Natasha trailed off hesitantly, like she was embarrassed to ask. To reinforce the idea, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear to hide her face for a moment.

"I know," Potts said with some sympathy, "I don't think we'll ever get a straight answer from those two. It wouldn't be anyone's business, but with our jobs…" She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath about nude videos and Maxim cover girls.

This was an interesting development, Natasha had to admit. She mentally filed it under things to put in her report before she had to be Natalie Rushman again.

Later that day, Fury took her report via video call. At the end he prompted, "And Rogers?" He knew she would gather intelligence on Captain America as well as their primary point of interest. It was one of the things that made her so valuable.

"He is extremely protective of Stark," Natasha reported with a grimace, "and has a very good sense of who's dangerous." The encounter in the boxing gym was fresh in her mind.

"He figured you out?" Fury asked, grave and shocked and impressed at once.

"Not my identity, just that he thinks I need to have an eye kept on me around Stark," Natasha answered smoothly.

Fury sighed and said with heavy irony, "I am _very_ glad to hear he's still human. The way he's talked about is like he's perfect, and I don't trust anyone without a dark side." He let a corner of his mouth tilt up in a parody of a smile.

Similarly, Natasha allowed herself to snort. "Oh, he has a dark side," she told her boss, "He told me that if I hurt Stark, the fish will be lucky to find me." It was one of the more poignant threats she had received recently.

"Captain Steven Rogers said that to you," Fury stated blankly.

"Yes, sir," Natasha confirmed. She couldn't believe it either, at first. This was _Captain America_ and he had threatened to kill her and very thoroughly dispose of her body. It refused to process for a while.

"Keep an eye on both of them. Stark mainly, but whenever you can, Rogers too," Fury instructed after a moment of thought.

Upon agreeing, Natasha ended the call and lounged back in her chair. This mission had gotten more complicated than anyone thought. What started as surveillance on Stark for the Avengers Initiative ended up being surveillance on Stark _and_ Rogers, for the Initiative and the world at large.

It was a very good thing she was the Black Widow.

Two days later, she was in a private jet headed for the Circuit de Monaco, already wishing that Rogers and Stark would stop giving each other those looks when the other wasn't looking. Or that they would do something about it. There were five bedrooms in the plane, they could use one of those and everyone would be extremely grateful for it.

When she looked to Potts, the other woman grimaced at her. Apparently this had been going on for some time.

Almost as much, she wished that Rogers would stop looking at her like one of the HYDRA idiots he had fought in the forties. It was one thing to actually be a spy wanting to do harm. It was another to be a benevolent spy, if that were possible, and get accused otherwise. Sometimes forcing a pleasant smile onto her face felt like she was breaking her lips.

It only got worse when they all got ready to make their grand entrance. The look that Stark had when Rogers stepped out of a room in a tuxedo was pure, panting lust. The other way around wasn't much different, just better hidden.

As she adjusted her dress, Natasha wondered if this was going to be her life for the next several weeks. She was probably going to snap and shove them into a broom closet together at some point.

The confrontation with Justin Hammer and Christine Everhart was not unexpected. What _was_ , was realizing that Stark had gone missing, Potts was subtly twisting the knife in Everhart's back, and Rogers was in the restroom. Upon seeing her target in full driving suit on one of the televisions, Natasha couldn't help gaping along with her new employer.

Luckily, Rogers reappeared right then. All it took was a single look around for him to notice what was wrong. "Where's Tony?" he asked, dead serious.

In answer, Potts jabbed a finger angrily at the television.

The race had started and Stark was in sixth, Natasha noted. Not bad, considering his lack of training for this.

"Oh my God," Rogers groaned and slapped his own forehead with a large palm. Before anyone could convince him otherwise he was rushing out of the restaurant.

"Natalie, Natalie!" Potts called, obviously in a furious panic, "Did you know anything about this?"

With another disbelieving look at the screens, Natasha shook her head. "No, this is the first I've seen of it. How can I help?" she responded quickly.

"Where's Happy?" Potts asked, obviously making a plan.

"Right outside," Natasha answered. That was where she last saw him, anyway.

"Get Happy, I need Happy," Potts said, panic overtaking the anger in her voice.

"Right away," Natasha responded. She hurried away to do what she was told, but watched the screens every chance she got.

What she saw was a nightmare. The cameras had gone from the race to where a man dressed like one of the pit crew members waded out onto the track and- Fury was going to hate this, he had electric whips capable of slicing the front off a race car.

Finally Happy got there, took Potts, and Natasha was close enough to free for the time being. All she could do was call in and watch what was happening, but it was better than nothing.

The cameras couldn't decide what to focus on: the race, the guy with the whips, or the car that had broken through the barrier and was going the wrong way on the racetrack. Natasha already knew that car contained Happy and Potts. It only made her more interested in what she saw.

Unable to be warned in time, Stark couldn't stop fast enough. He skidded toward the man with the whips and got the front half of his car sliced off for his trouble.

That was when Rogers arrived on the scene. He vaulted over the fence dividing the spectators from the race and stood between Stark and the other man. "That's enough," he declared, loudly enough to be heard by the microphones, "Stop before innocent people get hurt." The way he stood was not overtly threatening, but he was ready for a fight if need be.

The stranger laughed and shook a whip at Rogers, and it descended into a game of chicken. For all that Rogers was enhanced, he was still human and he knew it. Without his famous shield, all he could do was dodge and throw debris and hopefully get close enough to land a solid hit.

One of the whips wrapped around his wrist, but instead of struggling to free himself Rogers used the whip to pull the stranger forward. From the pained cry he gave, the whip had burned straight through his sleeve and into him. That would surely need medical attention later.

"Who's that?" asked Everhart, ever the calculating journalist.

"Some friend of Mr Stark's," Natasha replied in an unsure tone, playing up her job as the oblivious assistant.

When Rogers got in a good punch to the face, the entire room cheered. It made the stranger's neck snap back and gave the captain an opportunity to rip the whip wrapped around his arm off the rig.

That was when Happy and Potts arrived on the scene, the latter tossing a red and gold briefcase out the window before they skidded away again. The cameras were unable to capture what happened next but Iron Man flew from the burning cinders of a wrecked racecar. "My turn, Cap," his metallic voice said.

Gratefully, Rogers saluted Iron Man and was forced to backflip away when the remaining whip nearly sliced him in half.

Once Iron Man entered the fight, it was essentially over. Down to one whip, the stranger did not stand a chance against the most advanced weapons system yet seen. He put up a good fight, making the man in the suit unable to use his repulsors, but Iron Man pulled a trick from Rogers's playbook and wound the whip around himself to get in close.

Something on the chest of the rig was crushed and the whole thing powered down. It was over.

The stranger was dragged away by armored police, laughing and cursing.

The man in the armor, probably Stark, held out a hand to Rogers. It looked like he was asking for a hand to be placed in his.

One was, and the blonde wound himself around Stark in a way that looked far more intimate than should be allowed. Even with an injured arm Rogers clung on closely, face buried in the fried neck of the armor. He had experience in flying with Iron Man, from how he knew exactly where to wrap his arms around and where to step on.

They took off into the sky, becoming a blur of black, red, and gold until they passed out of view of the cameras.

The whole room was chattering about what just happened, except for Hammer. There was a look in his eyes that Natasha really didn't like.

She took the opportunity to order herself a drink. When it was over she was going to maim Stark for making this mission so difficult, she decided.


	5. Happy Birthday (My Olde Friend)

A big thank you to the reviewers, **Terri'smind** , **Pickles** , **Kae Richa** , **DoublePaws** , and a **Guest** reviewer! Your inspiring words make me smile every time I see them. And sorry for not putting up the thank you notes last week, I had to rush things a little because of stupid Nazi Joe.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Happy Birthday (My Olde Friend)**

" _Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!"_

― _Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967_

In a hospital in Monaco, Tony watched Steve receive treatment for the burns he incurred during the fight at the racetrack. His own had been negligible enough to just get away with a couple of butterfly bandages. Thank everything for the Iron Man suit.

On the other hand, Steve had been burned nearly to the bone by the combination of the whip itself and the electricity flowing through it. Miraculously, the arm hadn't just come off. Seriously, considering that the thing had sliced a goddamned car in half.

The doctor discharged Steve into Tony's care with instructions to get the injury rechecked by his own doctor the moment he got stateside. Some medication was prescribed, but both men knew it was a waste of paper. On the way out, Steve tossed it in the rubbish with his good hand.

Tony had sent Pepper and Natalie ahead to the States to get a press release going about how he totally wasn't Iron Man and the actual guy was on vacation. It would probably help to allow more pictures of JARVIS piloting the suit while he did stuff.

"Why'd you do that, Steve?" he asked once they were in the car. He leaned back on the plush leather seat with a sigh, too damn tired for this time of day.

"Medication doesn't exactly work on me," Steve replied dryly. He cradled his injured arm close, lips thinning whenever they went over a particularly rocky stretch of road.

"Take it easy on the potholes, Happy. No, I mean… Why'd you take him on like that? You didn't even have your shield," Tony clarified. It had bugged him ever since he saw what took the maniac's attention off him. He was sure his heart stopped when he saw that distinctive frame shielding him against fucking power whips, not a weapon in sight.

This time the response was serious. "I couldn't stand by and watch him kill you," Steve replied, like Tony was crazy for wondering.

"You'd have to have run the whole way from the Hotel de Paris unless you got Happy to drive you, which I know you didn't, and hope you were even on the right part of the track. I think that's a little extreme even for you, Spangles," Tony told him. Seriously, it was the last thing he expected and more than he ever would have asked. He would have been fine by himself… Kind of. Maybe.

More vulnerable than Tony had seen him in a long time, Steve shrugged and mumbled, "You're all I've got anymore."

Looking at it, Tony supposed he was right. Everyone that the other man knew was either dead or ancient now. "You and Pepper are all I have too," he agreed.

They sat in comfortable, intimate silence for a while. Too intimate.

"You want to come in with me to talk to the guy?" Tony asked as they arrived in front of the police station.

Steve nodded jerkily. He climbed out of the car with some difficulty, hissing when he accidentally put pressure on his injured arm in an attempt to get to his feet. When Tony caught him, he smiled in thanks.

The moment they entered the building, the police were all over them. There were questions about pressing charges, getting their statements, and more. The statements were taken care of quickly ("He wrecked my car, I crawled out, Pepper threw me the Iron Man suit, and I kicked his ass. Done deal,") and then they were off to see the weirdo who decided to ruin their vacation.

It shouldn't have been quite so surprising, or so much of a turn-on, for Steve to speak French right back to the officials. "No record of him, no responses, might not even speak English," the super soldier reported grimly. No matter that Tony actually did know French, and fairly well, he was perfectly willing to let the officials be translated by someone who could make a telephone directory sound scrumptious.

"Think you'll be okay in there? You can wait outside if you want to," Tony offered.

Steve refused to stay behind, injured or no. "I can handle it," he answered with a cutting glare.

With a shrug, Tony slipped in the door when it was open.

The big blonde followed, and the door closed directly after. They didn't want to take a chance on this guy getting out. Good.

While Steve leaned against the wall by the door, Tony knew that to get something sometimes you had to give something. He began talking tech, suggesting that what this guy had pulled out of his ass was okay if not up to standard. Then he got to the real question of motive. "You could've made a decent paycheck if you did a little fine tuning, sold it to North Korea, China, Iran, or gone straight to the black market," he commented, "You look like you've got friends in low places."

The guy really did. This close and cleaned up, he looked to be a little older than Tony with grey invading dark hair and lines firmly established on his face. The tattoos looked like prison ink and from the symbols used, probably Slavic.

"You come from a family of thieves and butchers," the man said, his Russian accent heavy, "And now, like all guilty men, try to rewrite your own history and you forget all the lives Stark family has destroyed." Oh boy, one of those revenge people. Great.

"Speaking of thieves, where did you get this design?" Tony shot back.

"My father, Anton Vanko," the man replied, as if they should know who that was.

"Well I've never heard of him," Tony replied.

"My father is the reason you're alive," the Russian, Vanko, told him with what could almost be called earnestness.

"The reason I'm alive is because you had a shot, you took it, and you missed," Tony said, quick fire like the weapons he used to make.

Vanko looked over his shoulder and grinned at Steve, exposing a gold tooth. "No, I think he might be the reason you are alive," he refuted, "How is the arm?" He sounded honestly curious.

In answer, Steve held up the bandages. "Healing."

"You say I missed my shot," Vanko said, like he knew something they didn't, "Did I? If you make god bleed, people will cease to believe in him. And there will be blood in the water, and the sharks will come. The truth is, all I have to do is sit and watch as the world will consume you."

The noise Steve made was angry. "Not if I have anything to say about it," he said strongly.

On the same note, Tony nearly smirked. "Where will you be watching the world consume me from? That's right. A prison cell," he pointed out, "I'll send you a bar of soap." He got up to leave, having got all the information he needed for now.

"Hey, Tony, before you go," Vanko said as Tony reached the door, "Palladium in the chest, painful way to die."

For a moment, Tony froze.

"What?" Steve hissed, voice deadly.

All Vanko did was chuckle and shake his head. He wouldn't be giving any more answers today.

Tony opened the door and the Americans left the cell. Their five minutes was up. Much more would just drive one or the other of them batty anyways.

On their way out, there was tense silence as they thought about their encounter with Vanko.

"He's crazy as an outhouse rat, but he's not stupid. He's got something up his sleeve," Steve said with a grimace. The phrasing was quaint, colloquial, and entirely unfitting of his tux and serious demeanor.

Unable to refute that, Tony made a mental note to install a bug in the system and keep an eye on their Russian friend. If Cap had a bad feeling, it was probably right. The man's instincts were legendary.

It wasn't until they got to the car that Steve brought up Vanko's words. "What did he mean?"

Luckily Tony was a master of looking unconcerned when really he was panicking. "Exactly what he said," the genius answered flippantly.

The bitchface Steve gave him could have given Sam Winchester a run for his money. "I need a better explanation than that," he said, sharp blue eyes analyzing the man beside him. He was visibly putting the pieces together, trying to comprehend all the little things he noticed that were just starting to add up.

It was the last thing Tony wanted to talk about. He knew his friend wouldn't leave it alone, though, not until he had what he wanted. "What do you want to hear? That the very thing keeping me alive is killing me?" he snapped.

"But how-" Steve started to question, leaning in to emphasize his need to know.

"Don't," Tony said coldly, "Just don't. Not like you'd understand the science behind it anyways." He knew he was being cruel, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Today was hitting him in all the soft squishy places he had left. He couldn't deal with it right now.

Steve's lips went thin and he regretted it immediately. "Fine," the super soldier returned just as coldly, and turned to look out the car window instead of at his companion.

Pretending it didn't matter to him, Tony did the same. He ignored the aching, hollow feeling in his chest like he had for decades before Steve came along with his shy smiles and good cooking and fantastic butt. Fooling himself was second nature by now.

They stayed like that for the rest of the ride to the airport. Not even getting there and busying themselves with the bags helped dispel the heavy clouds that hung over them.

The plane ride home could nearly have been called peaceful. The men all did their own thing; Tony designed on his tablet, Steve drew, and Happy finally got some sleep. It had been a hard few days. In the middle of it the bandages were removed from Cap's arm and by the time they hit the tarmac, there wasn't even a scar.

Only the tension in the cabin, even with Happy's quiet snoring, kept it from being comfortable. Too much to be said and no words for it all. It would probably end in a fight if they tried, Tony thought as he watched the hunched outline of Steve's shoulders and the tense motions of his hand.

It didn't let up when they got back, or for days after. They would sit in his lab and dig ever further into Howard's notes, but the air was suffocating. Every time one of them moved the other tensed up and couldn't tear their eyes away, no matter how neither of them really wanted this.

Admittedly, this may have been part of why Tony's birthday party became a disaster. He couldn't take another day of this tension, it felt like he would snap in half the next time Steve looked at him. The emotions in his eyes were too heavy, too numerous, to bear.

So the chance to lose himself in a crowd once again, even if it was a crowd of people he couldn't care less about, was taken gladly. He went from one person to the next, displaying a glittering personality he really didn't feel, to get away from the one person he wanted to be around and yet couldn't stand. So he did the most reasonable thing a dying man in this situation could do: he got drunk and donned the Iron Man suit.

It didn't escape his notice that Steve disappeared halfway through the party. Tony refused to think about why he noticed and why he hated it.

* * *

Rhodey had known Tony Stark for a long time, and he had never seen the man quite like this. He had always been reckless and irresponsible, but if nothing else he had made sure that no one in the vicinity got hurt. Now, he didn't seem to care.

This was the guy he was risking everything for, Rhodey thought in disgust as he watched his friend clown around on the stage. Why did he do this, time after time?

Because their friendship was worth it. They each had very few people in their lives who cared and they clung to each other all the more. But this was pushing boundaries he didn't even know he had.

Finding Pepper was easy. She was near the back of the crowd, looking more horrified by the second at their friend's antics. That is, when she wasn't frantically looking around for someone. When she saw Rhodey her face lit up, but immediately she went back to looking.

"This is ridiculous," Rhodey hissed into her ear, "I just got done sticking my neck out for this guy!" He wouldn't say that it made this hurt even more to watch. They needed to get Tony under control, now.

Pepper held him back from approaching the stage. "Let me, I'll handle it. You find Steve," she told him in a low voice, eyes still darting around.

"Steve?" Rhodey hadn't heard that name before and was immediately on guard.

"Tall, blonde, obscenely handsome. He might be the only one able to handle Tony if this goes any further downhill," Pepper described the man vaguely before she slipped through the crowd. On stage, she took the microphone and released a phony sounding laugh and tried to tell the crowd that the party was over.

"She's right, you know," Tony said bluntly, "This party was over for me like an hour ago." Oh no, it was never good when he agreed with Pepper on something.

Rhodey tensed up and tried to keep an eye out for someone matching the description Pepper gave, but that could have been any number of the guests.

"But the after-party starts in fifteen minutes!" Tony shouted, to a cheer from the crowd.

Time for Rhodey to do something. There wasn't much he could do as himself, but maybe… He knew Tony had more suits than the one he was wearing.

Not even trying to be subtle about it, Rhodey stormed to the stairs that led down to the lab. He punched in his code and walked in, but froze. Someone was already in here.

The man turned around to see who had come in and immediately Rhodey knew that this was who Pepper meant. While any number of people upstairs could be called obscenely handsome, this man was a Michaelangelo brought to life. No wonder Pepper described him the way she did. He was in the gossip column a while go with her, and before that, Iron Man. But why was he in the lab, and how?

"Colonel Rhodes," Steve stated with a grimace, "Did Pepper send you to find me?" He seemed awfully certain.

"Steve?" Rhodey asked, just to be sure.

"Captain Steven Rogers," the man responded, holding out a hand to shake. The other was still elbow deep in a crate.

The grip was firm but not too tight. "Yeah, Pepper asked me to keep an eye out for you. Said you were probably the only one able to handle Tony if she failed," Rhodey answered.

The volume upstairs was loud enough to make the ceiling vibrate.

"Doesn't sound like she succeeded," Captain Rogers said with the look of someone going to war.

"What's your plan?" Rhodey asked immediately. He needed to be able to form a backup plan if Captain Rogers failed too.

"He isn't listening to reason from anyone," that meant he had tried earlier, "That doesn't leave me many other options." He pulled his arm from the crate with some metal do-dad or another and tossed it onto a table. Instead of messing with it more, he went to the sofa in the corner and pulled something round from between the wall and the arm.

Rhodey couldn't help staring. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked blankly. Every kid knew those red and white concentric circles around a white star and blue field. It was impossible though.

"If you think it's a vibranium shield, you're correct," Captain Rogers answered with an unhappy smile at him, "Might be the only thing able to make Tony see sense."

"Does that mean you're…" Rhodey wasn't sure how much more his brain could take this evening before it overloaded.

"Do you have a problem with it?" Captain America asked expectantly as he pulled the shield's straps over his forearm with practiced ease.

"No, not at all, just… thought you weren't real," Rhodey muttered before he shook himself out of his stupor. Now wasn't the time for it; if anything the music had only gotten louder. And was that shattering glass? Shit.

"Then get in the suit," the Captain told him, pointing to the further of two.

It was easy enough, Rhodey had watched the first few tests of the full suit. Having it assembled around him was a whole different experience, closing him in but providing a cocoon of protection. Was this how Iron Man felt? He could see why the man would be content to pilot from the shadows.

When the cameras activated, it was in time to see the Captain's devastated face before he got his composed mask back up. "Let's go," he said, and strode out the door.

It felt strange, walking but knowing that he wasn't the one moving himself. "Yes sir," Rhodey agreed, steeling himself. Hopefully they could get Tony to stop the idiocy without coming to blows. He already knew that wouldn't work.

"Call me Steve," the Captain told him as they climbed the stairs.

"Rhodey, then," he said back. It was surreal.

"I think for tonight's purposes, it might work a little better if you were Iron Man," Steve told him, and they were suddenly in the party.

Half the room was already wrecked and several people were covered in some kind of pinkish chunks that Rhodey prayed weren't brains. From the delight still radiating through the crowd it wasn't, but that was the only good news. Tony was still on stage, in the suit, and hadn't seemed to notice them yet.

"Tony! Stand down!" Steve shouted over the din.

The music suddenly cut off and the people parted like the Red Sea. Whispers and attempts at whispers broke out as everyone stared at the two newcomers, armed to the teeth. Only Pepper seemed relieved, her shoulders slumping and eyes closing with emotion.

"Cap! Iron Man! Here to join me?" Tony seemed perfectly happy. He was fucking miserable.

"The party's over people. Clear out," Steve ordered. When no one moved, he added a sharp, "Now," and there was a sudden stampede for the doors.

Rhodey and Steve weren't so much as touched, the whole room afraid. Even Rhodey felt dangerous, and he knew that if Tony didn't see sense _right now_ he would be.

"Let's put the suits and the shield away, and we can talk about this," Steve tried.

Tony looked like he was thinking about it. Except that Rhodey knew he wasn't, the expression was too deliberate.

"Take off the suit," Rhodey repeated firmly.

"Make me," Tony challenged. The helmet folded over his head and then it was on.

The first hit was scored by Rhodey, hard enough to knock Tony back. Then he got hit back, straight into a wall. Amazingly, the Colonel was barely dazed by it and able to get to his feet in time to intercept a metal fist headed straight for his face. The men in the suits fought, rolling and wrestling and punching, until it seemed like Tony was about to go too far, damage something even he couldn't repair, as he knocked Rhodey straight through a concrete wall.

That was when Steve finally jumped in. The screen of Rhodey's armor went on the fritz for only a few seconds, but it was enough time for Captain America to get from guarding the doors to bringing the edge of his shield down on Iron Man's shoulder. His face was contorted with pain as he scored a hit.

Tony turned around faster than he should have been able to and brought his arm in for a punch straight to the face-

And Steve _caught it_. His arm trembled with the effort of holding back the superior strength of the armor, but he leaned into it held his ground. "Tony, stop this right now," he ordered.

"What, a man can't defend himself?" the metalized voice responded mockingly. Tony swung the arm that was being held onto and sent Steve flying through a window.

Combined with everything else that had happened that evening, seeing an American icon treated in such a way was the straw that broke the camel's back. "You're not worthy to wear the suit!" Rhodey shouted and shot up to lay a beatdown on his friend.

This time Tony wasn't able to keep up with the flurry of blows. In short order he was slammed into the fireplace and groaned, head lolling to the side.

Rhodey was tempted to make absolutely sure that Tony wouldn't get up anytime soon (maybe then he wouldn't pull this kind of stupid shit) but instead shook his head and took a few steps back. "You know what? I'm done," he said, not even angry anymore.

As he flew off, ignoring Steve's calls for him to come back, Rhodey felt tears pricking behind his eyes. He blinked rapidly to push them back. Piloting this thing required being able to see.

All he could do was hope that they could repair this later. Whenever Tony pulled his head out of his ass.

* * *

Tony had forgotten how much of a beat-down these suits could lay on a man, even unarmed. He coughed and contented himself with laying in the rubble of the fireplace for the moment. The _idea_ of moving hurt.

"Oh, Tony…" Steve was still here? Why hadn't he gone with Rhodey?

It was easier to pretend that Rhodey had knocked him out. Tony stayed still, eyes closed and so, so tired of it all. Vanko had been right when he said that palladium in the chest was a painful way to die.

"What were you thinking?" Steve muttered, probably to himself, closer than he should have been.

Mentally, Tony answered the question: he was thinking that he was keeping his best friends safe and provided for. A suit was biometrically attuned to each of them. No one else could use them, keeping Rhodey necessary to the military and the technology from being used for terrible things.

That way Steve would still be able to fly after Tony was gone.

In that moment, Tony felt more vulnerable and alone than ever. He was well on his way to see if Dante was right about hell, had alienated his longest standing friends, and the one person that he really wanted to leave had stayed. Steve hadn't taken the bait and followed Rhodey to the military like he was supposed to; there was still someone there for Tony's death to hurt.

His head was lifted up and set on something. When Tony looked at the HUD, he was looking straight up at Steve's sad face. He looked like someone had just shot his dog.

"How do you take this thing off?" Steve asked quietly. He tugged at the bottom of the helmet just enough to test it.

"Here." Tony set the big fingers in the right grooves and pressed them in. The seal clicked and he took a deep breath, preparing his mask.

An icy hand carefully caught the back of his head as the helmet was removed. The kind gesture made something in his chest ache.

Steve wasn't supposed to be in a broken mansion letting a dying asshole ruin him.

"Why'd you do that?" Steve asked, and it felt like his chest caved in to see tears starting in those big blue eyes, "You're so stupid, Tony. Why'd you do that, huh?" The inventor couldn't even make fun of him for almost directly quoting Titanic.

"You forget how much of an asshole I am," Tony replied dryly. Between the alcohol, the fight, and the poison, he was so tired… And comfortable, even inside the Iron Man armor. Steve's leg might be the same temperature as tap water and hard as cement, but it was him and that alone made it comfortable.

The laugh Steve gave sounded closer to a sob. "You really are," he agreed.

They stayed like that until Steve finally decided that they needed to get into something other than their disgusting, sweaty clothes. Tony didn't argue as he was picked up and supported on their way to the only bedroom that wasn't destroyed. No, he gratefully pulled the emergency release lever and stumbled into the bathroom for a shower.

If it weren't for Steve's prudery and his own tiredness, he'd suggest that they save water and shower together. As it was, he sighed in relief as hot water soothed his aching muscles. Today had gone exactly as planned- except for Steve.

Tony let out a bitter laugh. Why was the kink in his plans always named Steve fucking Rogers?

Every time he thought about it, the man was the bane of Tony's attempts to plan. He couldn't be accounted for. Steve always knew more than he should have and there was never any being sure what he was or wasn't aware of. It made him unpredictable.

The only unpredictability Tony liked was his own.

If Steve was impossible to plan around, he would just improvise. Good thing that was a specialty, Tony thought grimly. He turned off the water and stepped out.

All protests and blustering from the hot super soldier were ignored in favor of walking out and collapsing onto the bed in just his towel. If Steve didn't like it, too bad. He could sleep on the floor. (Tony really hoped he didn't.)

The door closed and the water started. It was soothing already, but when Steve started singing something Tony didn't recognize, it became the stuff of dreams. His voice was deep and the tune slow.

" _It's still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die…"_

Tony smiled as he drifted to sleep.


	6. Battle of the Bands

Thank you to my wonderful reviewers: **Terri'smind** , **Kae Richa** , **Garfunkyel** , and **Pickles**. You're the best!

Here we are at the end of the Iron Man 2 storyline, heading into Avengers either next chapter or the one after that. It's been fun but we all know you're looking forward to the whole fab fam moving in.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Battle of the Bands**

" _There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."_

― _Albert Einstein_

The day after the disastrous birthday party found Steve waking up wrapped around a source of incredible warmth. To his constantly cold body, it was like snuggling a furnace. The temptation to press his nose into the neck in front of him was too much, he wiggled closer and breathed in.

Cloves and white metal were like a homecoming, like he was sure V-E Day would be like when they got there and he could ask. "Tony…" Steve mumbled. When he felt metal surrounded by skin under his palm, he breathed a contented sigh.

"Um, Steve? What?" Tony's voice was confused. Why was he so confused, they shared a bed more often than not. Even if this was the first time the other man was also bare-chested. Actually, he was naked and it felt like everything Steve had ever wanted.

"I never pegged you for a cuddler," Tony said, and the his back rumbled with laughter.

When Steve opened his eyes, determined to tell off his man for ruining a _moment_ , he froze. The room they were in was spacious and modern, glass serving as one wall and a large black screen against another. A television. The sight yanked him back to the present with an unpleasant jerk and a lump traveled up his throat.

This was 2011 and he was in Tony's wrecked mansion and Tony was dying. Not for the first time, Steve just wanted to go back to sleep and wake up again when things were the slightest bit sane. It wasn't an option right now.

"You're warm, of course I'm going to get closer," Steve grumbled and forced himself to release the man who had been home to him for so long. So that he didn't say, "To hell with the timeline," and stay curled around Tony, he rolled away and sat up on the other side of the bed. When he stretched, every joint he had cracked.

Similar noises, plus a yawn, echoed from the other side of the bed. "I think that's the longest I've slept since I was fifteen," Tony said, surprised contentment in every syllable, "We should cuddle naked more often."

Steve choked. Most of him was completely on board with that idea and thought this new regimen should start immediately. His body was _more_ than happy with that suggestion. "I think I'm going to get my clothes on," he mumbled, and almost sprinted out of the room. Thank everything holy he had found a pair of clean boxers he could borrow after his shower.

Once in his room, he realized that Tony was right and it was wrecked. There was a hole in the middle of the floor, barely missing his bed, that went straight up through the ceiling. Half the windows were cracked.

Luckily the closet was intact, and his clothes as well. It was a little difficult to wrestle himself into his pants. The idea of having cuddled a naked Tony all night was a little too much to handle right now.

Not for the first time, Steve was near tears because he was so _close_ and so _far_ at the same time. Before he had to run he was right where he had wanted to be for years. And yet he was so far away, the Tony in the other room not the same one he had loved so long ago. Not yet, and possibly not ever.

But his memories were still the same, so didn't that mean they would succeed in keeping Tony alive? Or would that just make him a leftover part of an alternate universe? The concepts made Steve's head hurt and he shook them away. They weren't relevant, not yet.

What was, was the thought that he might have to let Tony go. Again. Wasn't once enough?

For the first time since he got here, Steve allowed himself to break down. He slid down the wall and buried his face in his knees. Tears not just of grief but pain and helplessness and gut wrenching despair crowded his eyes and sobs tore at his throat like he had only experienced the once in 1945. That was with Howard, both of them crying their eyes out on each other, before the world forgot about the men out of time.

Now that he was faced with the very real possibility of losing Tony again, he couldn't deal. When that eventually happened, by this or time travel, Steve didn't know what would happen. He remembered the redness and numbness of last time, but not the actual events. Would something similar happen again? This time there would be no enemy to fight, no appropriate channel for the rage and pain.

For the first time, Steve appreciated that there was someone around who made his instincts scream of danger. Whoever Natalie Rushman really was, maybe she'd be able to take him out if he went too far.

The thought shook him out of his melancholy. The tears gradually stopped and while his throat still felt like it had been sandpapered, he resumed normal breathing patterns. There wasn't time for this.

If he had to, he'd jam the smashed arc reactor in Tony's face just to make him see that there was a solution out there.

Steve took a moment to wipe his eyes and scrub his face in the bathroom before he went out to face Tony again. His eyes were still red and puffy, but at least the tear tracks and evidence of his runny nose were gone. It would have to do.

When he got out to the living room, it was just in time to see Rushman jab something into Tony's neck. It was proof of what he had feared all along.

A convenient chunk of rubble was thrown at her head. It was dodged nimbly. "That was lithium dioxide, to counteract the palladium poisoning," Rushman explained, sliding further from Tony.

"Who are you really?" Steve demanded tersely.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tony rubbing the side of his neck but with an expression of amazement. The color was coming back into the man's face rapidly. Maybe it actually was something to help rather than hurt.

"Natasha Romanoff, agent of SHIELD," the redhead answered promptly, "Fury sent me."

The tough black man with the eyepatch was hard to forget. So was the agency he worked for.

Before Steve could respond, Tony let out a laugh. "Give me a few boxes of this stuff and I'll be right as rain," he crowed. When he jumped up from the chair, the difference was marked. No signs of muscle cramps or backaches or headaches. The constant sweating and flush to otherwise grey skin was reversed to the familiar natural tan.

Romanoff shook her head. "It's only a temporary measure. Too long on that will do just as bad for you," she refuted, "You need a replacement for the palladium. You have Howard Stark's things and SHIELD is of the opinion that he left a message, if you can decipher it."

The look Tony gave her wasn't encouraging. "That man was paranoid as all get out. Everything he ever wrote was in code," he stated condescendingly.

"Then you're the perfect person to crack it," Romanoff replied, "If it weren't for the Captain, Phil would be here to babysit you for the next few days as you do." She took the opportunity to sneak a peek at Steve.

Though it seemed like the woman was telling the truth, he reminded himself of Peggy again. Never underestimate someone because of their genitals. "Why should I do anything for you?" he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

This time Romanoff looked to Tony, who was luxuriating in the lack of pain while he stretched like a cat. "It's not me you'll be helping," she answered simply.

She knew that Steve's weakness was a certain genius. It made him even more wary because that meant that she could effectively manipulate him. And he wouldn't do a thing against her, if it meant keeping Tony safe.

From the look on both the other people's faces in the room, they knew it too. "Whatever you want to happen, good luck, sweetie," Tony told her rudely.

"What do I have to do?" Steve asked. It wasn't smart, but he had done worse for this man.

"Wait wait wait, what, no Steve, you can't-" Tony's babbling was cut off.

"Make sure he doesn't leave and that he's working on what he needs to." Some kind of expression was cleared from Romanoff's face too quickly to be identified. Instead she settled into a neutral stance, not threatening but ready for action if need be.

In return, Steve lowered his hands to his sides. He stood with feet shoulder width apart and ready for anything. "I was going to," he returned. It had to be made obvious that this wasn't for her, because she wanted him to.

The message came across; Romanoff nodded decisively. "I'll leave you gentlemen to it," she said and walked out a side door with a nod to each of them.

Not for the first time, Steve wondered how his world turned upside down.

From the look on Tony's face as he rubbed his neck, he was thinking along the same lines. "Time to get back to work," he said, more cheerful than he had in weeks. He sprang up and swanned past Steve, humming a song that sounded suspiciously like, "As Time Goes By".

The sudden burst of happiness made Steve feel like he was walking on clouds down to the lab.

Finally, they had hope again.

* * *

As the inventor himself leafed through his father's journals, written in mirrored script, Steve put together the models that came with all the gadgets. The process was oddly soothing.

A film reel of the many attempts to make the opening video to the '74 Stark Expo was playing, with Howard getting more drunk on each take. At one point Steve caught sight of an unspeakably adorable four year old Tony being lifted out of the frame.

Otherwise, all he could feel was sadness at what his old friend had become. Howard had always been a womanizer and fond of his drink, but this...

Right when Steve was about to cut it off, for Tony's mental stability, the clue came that they needed: "Tony. You're too young to understand this now, so I thought I would put it on film for you." It was obviously meant for the Tony watching.

That caught both of their attention. Steve put down the building model he had been holding in favor of leaning on the back of Tony's armchair.

Howard gestured at the model of the '74 Expo behind him. "I built this for you. And some day you'll realize that this represents a lot more than people's inventions. It represents my life's work. This is the key to the future. I'm limited by the technology of my time, but one day you'll figure this out. And when you do, you will change the world. What is, and always will be my greatest creation… is you." He looked so sincere that Steve was taken back seventy years to a hand on his shoulder and an offered drink after Bucky's fall in the Alps. There was still some part of his old friend in there.

"He never said he loved me," Tony stated, just this side of robotic, "He never even said he liked me. And now this?" He looked like he didn't know what to think as he scrubbed at his face with a calloused hand.

This time, it was Steve who put a hand on Tony's shoulder for comfort. "I think this is the only way he _could_ say it," the blonde said. He gave a squeeze before going back to the table, determined to do what he could to help.

"Did that look like something to you?" Tony asked suddenly. He must have had some epiphany that would go over anyone's head and not just a man out of time.

"What?" Steve asked, trying to figure out what was happening. On instinct he looked to where he last saw the broken arc reactor. Was now the time for it?

The other man jumped up and stalked over, eyes bright. "We need to finish this. I think I may have something," he said, and began grabbing pieces of the Expo model.

Together they put everything in its place and within half an hour it looked just like it did thirty seven years ago. Steve still didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at. "Tony?" he prompted.

Something about a digital wireframe was muttered, and there was a glowing blue copy of the model right on top of the original. "1974 Stark Expo model scan complete, sir," JARVIS reported, serene as always.

When Tony lifted the hologram and turned it, Steve found himself grinning. Stark tech never ceased to amaze him.

"JARVIS, how many buildings does this model have?" Tony asked, oblivious to everything else.

"Am I to include the Belgian waffle stand?" JARVIS asked sassily.

"That was rhetorical, just show me," Tony replied. His voice said that he was rolling his eyes despite that he wasn't.

The scan started spinning with a snap of Tony's fingers and Steve was mesmerized. He leaned on the table with the model, not willing to get in the way but at the same time he needed to see everything. This was better than any of the pulps he read back in the old days.

When the scan turned on its side, Tony had that look. He was on the verge of something magnificent. "Um, what does that look like to you, JARVIS?" he asked, despite that he knew exactly what it did.

Even if Steve still had no idea. It must be from after his time.

"Not unlike an atom, in which case the nucleus would be here," Tony answered himself, touching the center building, "Highlight the unisphere." The hand gestures he made actually got the globe to turn into a 3-D model and it started spinning between his palms.

Steve wished he had his sketchbook. This would haunt him for weeks, until he got it just perfect.

"Lose the footpaths, get rid of them," Tony ordered, eyes flickering all over the scan. He swatted them out of the way.

"What is it you are trying to achieve, sir?" JARVIS asked politely. Oh, thank God the computer was just as confused.

"I'm discovering, uh, correction, rediscovering, a... new... element," Tony stammered. He actually _stammered_ over the words, not nearly so put together as even the night before.

The idea that there was something to replace the palladium, and the building blocks were right there, was amazing. Creating a new _element_ , one of the most basic things on the planet… It was more than Steve ever dreamed he would witness.

"Lose the landscaping and the shrubbery and the trees," Tony continued, and they all were deleted, "Parking lots, exits, entrances. Construct the protons and neutrons using the pavilions as a framework." He made another gesture and it all gathered into a ball. Upon throwing his arms out, the different components spaced themselves to show more detail.

It was one of the most beautiful things Steve had seen in his life. The whole view in front of him was awe inspiring. The neon blue globes and lines in front of sleek steel and glass, Tony standing in the middle. The inventor's face showed just as much awe as he knew his did, mouth slightly open and eyes wide with wonder.

This was a scene for a canvas, not the sketchbook. It deserved color and space as much as the real thing. Already Steve started planning which paints to order and what size he wanted it.

Because this was proof, irrefutable proof, that Tony would live. Even before it was said out loud, Steve knew in his gut that this was what they were looking for.

"Dead for almost twenty years, and he's still taking me to school," Tony commented once he recovered his faculties. With a grin he slapped it all down to size again. It was another picture for a canvas, a man holding what looked like a whole world in the palm of his hand.

"The proposed element should serve as a viable replacement for palladium," JARVIS told them.

It was enough to make Steve want to weep. He knew Tony would come through, but actually seeing it was something else. "You did it," he said hoarsely.

"We did it," Tony agreed, literally glowing with both the light from his arc reactor and the molecule he held. Looking at it, he muttered something so low and fast that even Steve was unable to hear.

"Unfortunately, it is impossible to synthesize," JARVIS told them.

The rain on their parade did nothing to stop the men. If anyone could do the impossible, it was Tony Stark.

"Mhm," the inventor said, unconvinced, before he declared, "Get ready for a remodel! We're back in hardware mode!"

While Steve didn't know what that meant, he was content enough to follow directions. "What do you need me to do?" he asked.

The beeps and excited chittering of the bots seemed to echo similar sentiments.

"We're going to make a particle accelerator," Tony announced. He rubbed his hands together and listed out all the pieces he needed, and what he needed to be done to the lab walls.

With guidance, Steve and the bots were able to do the heavy lifting. While the muscle spasms and aching joints were gone, the last thing they wanted was for Tony to use all his energy doing things they could. Some of the parts were too heavy for a normal human being anyways.

As the main frame was built by the robots and soldier, Tony was doing wiring and setting up a crystal that was for some reason lying around the lab. He was back in his element.

The thought made Steve smile as he held up a section of tubing for Dummy to weld. He knew just what he was going to call one of those paintings.

Within the day the accelerator was built. Tony looked satisfied as he examined it, occasionally rapping on a part or giving it a shake. It had to be absolutely stable or this wouldn't work.

A far section rattled unsteadily and was slightly sunken. Both men grimaced and Tony glanced around for something to hold it up.

Without much thought, Steve grabbed the nearest thing he could find that was both wide and high enough to do the job. When he looked, he realized it was his shield. More deliberately, he shoved it under the section of the accelerator that needed the extra support.

Tony gave him an unreadable look. From the shield to Steve and back again, his eyes darted with thought but his face showed none of it. When he did give any kind of expression, it was a smirk and a nod that didn't look quite right.

A pair of shaded goggles was handed over and Steve pulled them over his eyes. Suddenly the room was plunged into night.

There was just enough light to see Tony's shape moving around the haphazard machinery. Brushing past was more felt and smelled than seen, a whisper of warmth and familiar scents before being snatched away.

"For science," Tony declared and there was a sound of grinding metal as he pulled a lever.

Suddenly Steve could see. Without the shaded plastic he likely would have been blinded by the brightness of the blue racing around the tube they had built. Round and round it went until the entire circular structure glowed.

Then it hit the crystal and suddenly there was a beam of light shooting across the room. It was concentrated enough to gouge a hole in the cement wall.

Grunting, Tony struggled to turn the crystal and focus the beam on the triangle of metal he had set up on a table.

Steve reached over and placed his hands on the outside of the handles, effectively caging the other man in as he helped to refocus the energy. Even for him it was difficult.

The laser moved along until it hit home, and suddenly the triangle was absorbing energy rather than being destroyed by it. Steve sent up a silent prayer.

It looked like the energy was being used up; everything went dark again except for the faint light of the triangle across the room. Cautiously Steve lifted his goggles. He blinked a few times to adjust to the brightly lit room, but a huge grin cracked his face when he saw the familiar glowing blue triangle. Aside of when he pulled it from the crate, the last time he had seen it was-

The thought was expertly derailed.

Tony replaced the current arc reactor with a puff of smoke, and let out a holler. "Tastes like coconut and metal. Oh, wow, yeah!" He laughed as the glow of his chest brightened almost blindingly.

It was a fight to look at him too long. Steve's eyes watered for the few seconds that the extreme brightness lasted before it dissolved.

The Tony that stood in his lab, grinning and carefree, made Steve's heart hammer harder than it had in months. This was the closest to _his_ Tony that he had seen since… Every single cell in his body cried out to leap at the man and kiss the living daylights out of him, but he resisted.

Think of the timeline, Steve told himself firmly. The steel of the table started to give way beneath his fingertips.

"Now to make sure that Hammer doesn't do anything stupid," Tony declared. His lips twisted into an annoyed grimace as he spoke.

The sudden change of topic blindsided Steve. "What?" he squawked.

"Hammer. He's got a demonstration going for some drones at the Expo and I heard there's going to be a bloodbath," Tony answered and without even a moment's pause scrambled to the familiar launch pad.

Steve let out a sigh but jerked his shield out from under the accelerator. If there were people in danger, it was no use to try to get Tony to take a moment for himself. They were too alike in that way.

The few times he had seen the Iron Man armor wrap around someone had been strange and fascinating and this time was no different. But this was the second time he had seen it in a crisis. The differences were on display and yet again, Steve worried about the slowness of the process. In a real emergency that might spell life or death.

So it went that Steve's first battle since getting defrosted was less a battle and more making sure that civilians got out of the line of fire. With Rhodey's suit malfunctioning- and God, it hurt to be so helpless yet again where Tony was concerned- there was little he could do besides reduce casualties wherever possible. It was probably a blessing. He had grown fond of Rhodey, if for no other reason than that the colonel actually cared about Tony.

That didn't mean that Steve saw no action during what the papers would call the Battle at Stark Expo. More than once he had to take on a drone to defend someone wearing one of those plastic Iron Man masks he had found so charming before. The things seemed programmed to eliminate anything that looked like Iron Man.

Steve relished the challenge that the drones provided. It became clear fast that he would have to train more, learn more, to keep up with this century, but that was fine with him. Tonight he was able to hold his own. That was what mattered.

The menace was gone within the hour. Taking a deep breath, Steve allowed himself a smile at the adrenaline still pumping through him. That, at least, was the same.

"Oh my… What- what the- this is going to take so long to clean up, and what about the-" Pepper was babbling as she looked at the destruction. No doubt she was seeing legal notices and paperwork everywhere.

Even Steve had to try to not flinch. This was going to take a while to clean up.

Beeping interrupted his intended offer to help. When he looked, it was coming from all around him, all the drones he had smashed up. And the noises were getting louder and closer together.

From the intensely frightened look Pepper gave him, she knew just as well what that meant. "I think we might want to get out of here," she suggested. The slightness of the tremor in her voice was admirable.

"Do you mind?" Steve asked politely, holding his arms in a sort of bridal carry motion.

"Oh, not at all-" Pepper was barely able to get the words out before she was knocked off her feet by a rushing super soldier. She let out a screech and clung to his neck, tensing up in his arms as she was carried off.

There was only a few seconds before an explosion came from behind them. Then another. More and more things went boom, more and more structures were damaged or destroyed.

Steve launched himself over a low wall and curled up around Pepper, shielding her with his body on one side and vibranium on another. Gritting his teeth, he pressed them closer against the stone wall as the explosions got closer and closer. A last one shook the ground and scattered gravel over their little bit of shelter before there was an eerie silence.

"I think it's over," Pepper whispered against his neck.

Cautiously Steve raised himself up enough to look over the wall. There wasn't a drone or even the remains of one in sight. He helped Pepper to her feet and kept a hand on her back to help support her shaking legs.

"I am going to kill that man," Pepper seethed unexpectedly.

"Huh?" Which man? If she was talking about Justin Hammer, Steve would gladly help. If she meant Tony, he would likely still assist.

"Tony! Why did he even want this expo! This has been nothing but trouble, and now…!" Pepper screeched, gesturing furiously at the smoking wreckage. Her trembling was very obviously enraged now. It was more than a little terrifying.

Seeing that she was perfectly fine, Steve inched away. "I think I'll go check on Iron Man," he muttered and tried to pretend he wasn't fleeing.

It was unnecessary; Tony found them first. "Captain," the genius greeted him with a pat to the broad shoulder.

Steve reached up and gripped the shoulder of the armor in return. "You alright?" he asked, inspecting what he could see. There were some scrapes and gouges, chipped paint and soot, but for the most part looked whole. The man under it was probably fine, but he would feel better once he saw Tony out of the armor.

"Of course. Myself and Colonel Rhodes are unharmed," Iron Man answered in the familiar metalized tones. He looked to Pepper and nodded. "Since you appear unhurt and this seems to be over, Miss Potts, I will return the armor now," he said.

From her blinking, Pepper was blindsided. "Wait, you were looking for me?" she asked.

"Mr Stark would undoubtedly fire if not murder me if something happened to you or the Captain under my watch," Tony answered. The irony was less than hilarious.

With that, Pepper sighed and shook her head. "You tell Tony that there'll be a pile of paperwork on his desk tomorrow," she threatened. She began picking her way through the rubble, still in precariously high stilettos.

Even in the armor Tony seemed to flinch. "He'll undoubtedly argue that you're now CEO," he said, trying to head this off.

The look Pepper shot him was exasperated. As she passed she put a hand on Steve's arm, then the Iron Man armor, in silent thanks. The further away she got, the more she pulled herself together until she was a personification of poise and corporate fury.

"She's going to murder you," Steve stated, arms crossed. He watched Pepper easily coordinate first responders and newspeople alike with admiration.

"I think I'll live," Tony replied, the dryness of the remark showing even through the voice filter.

They both snorted at the idea. After the stress that the past few months had put them through…

"Wanna blow this popsicle stand?" Tony offered suddenly.

The phrasing was unfamiliar, but Steve had an idea of what it meant. "Home?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Tony agreed. He offered a hand much like after Monaco.

In an echo, Steve took it and wrapped himself around the armor comfortably.

"This'll be a little longer than the flight I took you on before," Tony warned. The repulsors and back jets warmed up in preparation.

"That's more than fine," Steve replied. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around the shoulders of the Iron Man armor.

Without another word Tony launched them into the sky and began heading west.

Crossing the Ozarks, Steve realized something that made him laugh. He had called the ruined mansion in Malibu, home. That was a word he always reserved for wherever he and those closest to his heart laid their hats that night, on the move too often to be a place.

Without noticing it he had accepted this past-future version of the Tony he knew, for himself. Not for the man he would become.

It was lucky they were flying, or else Steve probably would have given in on the urge to kiss Tony senseless.


	7. Press, Release

Thank you so much to **fnblrtrash** , **Pickles** , **Terri'smind** , **Garfunkyel** , and **Kae Richa**. For reference I agree that Steve should have kissed Tony senseless. Too bad the plot forbids it for a long while.

Also, this is a birthday present to myself. Yep, it's my 24th birthday today! And I have a request for a present: reviews. I'm strangely fond of the end section and really want to know what you think about that especially, but comments (praise and constructive criticism alike) are wanted.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Press, Release**

" _It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."_

― _J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_

Tony nearly busted a gut laughing when he read the press release SHIELD had given about Steve being out of the ice. The stilted commentary, blatant misdirection, and general stance of 'no comment' were comedy gold. "Getting his bearings in a top secret government facility, my ass," he snorted when he reached the end of the article.

The letter that Steve had written in, on SHIELD's request, was concise and to the point:

 _June 6, 2011_

 _I'm not sure what I should say, so I suppose the truth will have to do. It was a shock to wake up and discover that it's 2011 and I'm still not entirely over it. Figuring out this strange new world and where I fit in it is a full time job._

 _Admittedly, I do miss my original time and the people in it, but the here and now isn't so bad. The food is definitely better (we used to boil everything) and the internet is extremely helpful, among other things. I'm discovering new things and making new friends. Learning about myself and the world around me._

 _Thank you all for the concern you've shown me and your kind thoughts. It's truly overwhelming to not be forgotten. I hope that your lives and days go well._

 _Regards,_

 _Captain Steven Rogers_

 _Captain America_

There were so many failed drafts that Tony had teased him about thinking of the trees. With each one Steve got more frustrated until he disappeared from his desk sometime after lunch. Eventually he was found on the roof, furiously absorbing the fourth Harry Potter book.

That was six months ago. For today, all the serious work was done and they had agreed to just laze around and continue their 'Pop Culture Through the Ages' marathon. They damn well deserved it.

Fondly Tony watched the super soldier get breakfast ready, as always. The man was a surprisingly good cook for all that he was a single guy from the 40's. The ring on Steve's left hand flashed silvery and reminded him otherwise.

Now that he wasn't dying anymore (and Pepper had had _words_ with him for not saying anything about it) he decided that it might not be a terrible time to ask. "What's with the ring, Cap?" Tony asked faux casually.

"Hm?" Steve looked up from where he checked the omelet religiously, not quite trusting the nonstick pan.

"I didn't know you were married," Tony rephrased. The idea sent a little pang through his chest that he ignored, as always. _Not his, never will be._

When Steve glanced down at the band around his finger, his face said it all. The longing and wistful sadness were unbearable. "It was never official," he answered. The way he immediately went back to the omelet hid his face.

Usually Tony didn't know when to leave things alone. This time, he didn't want to. "Was she black?" he asked, once he remembered the racial segregation of the times.

"Not that I would have been against it, but no. Why do you ask?" Steve peeked over his shoulder, frowning in confusion. Somehow the man always managed to take Tony by surprise with how modern his ideals could be.

"Why didn't you make it official? Tie the knot?" Tony clarified. The twisting feeling in his intestines had lessened, knowing that Steve never actually got married, but still made him squirm. It was hard to put his feelings to the side in the face of this.

The omelet was done, so Steve plated it and brought the stack over to the table. His entire focus seemed to be on making sure that he didn't drop the food. Only the bittersweet smile that touched his lips said otherwise.

For the moment, Tony let it alone. This was personal. He didn't have any right to demand answers and in a way he didn't even want to know. After the first bite of omelet, he let out a groan and stuffed another into his mouth. "Good," he commented through his food.

"Mind repeating that when you've swallowed?" Steve requested/chided. He was the picture of calm as he cut up his egg with a fork, taking glances at the newspaper. An actual _newspaper_. Damn he was old fashioned.

Just to be an ass, Tony talked through his omelet again.

This time he was ignored in favor of an article about the Arab Spring.

Near the end of the meal, when Tony had given up on his question being answered, it was. The words were stilted and a deaf man would notice the pain in his voice, but Steve still spoke. "I never got the chance. Dead, before I could get up the guts to ask," he said.

Tony resolved to not ask about her again. It was the least he could do. Especially since Steve never asked about Howard after the first time.

That didn't mean he wouldn't snoop on his own.

When Tony got into the lab later that night, unable to sleep, he blamed Steve. Ever since they fell asleep together after his disastrous not-last birthday, he hadn't been able to sleep on his own. He craved the feeling of a cold, hard body wrapped around his constantly overheating one, a large hand securely over his arc reactor. Even the smell of blood that never seemed to go away- which was still a little creepy- was comforting in its familiarity now. The Capsicle had ruined him.

It gave him the idea to look through Steve's file again, instead of doing any heavy duty inventing or suit maintenance. Maybe he could find out who the lady was. Slipping the address of the cemetery into a sketchbook or something would probably be a little creepy, but the guy needed to make his peace. The one thing Steve hadn't seemed to get over was her.

A careful scrutinization of every picture and document Tony had access to revealed no mystery woman, or even non-mystery woman. There were Aunt Peggy and Mom, but those were the only women besides his own mother that he was associated with in any way, shape, or form. It was a dead end.

There was a man who kept getting caught on the edge of shots, though. He was in several pictures of Steve, just the back of a head or a silhouette, but there was something strangely familiar about the man. Video only complicated it; at the beginning he might be caught in the corner of the frame, but he slid away so smoothly that his presence was barely noticed.

What really cinched Tony's interest about this man was that half the videos and photos he was seen in, he shouldn't have been. Those were pictures and films of the Howling Commandos. Everyone knew that there were six of them, plus Captain America making seven. So what was an eighth man doing there?

"JARVIS, search for records of a seventh Howling Commando," Tony ordered, puzzling over the clearest image of the man he could find. It was still grainy and indistinct, shot from too far away to be of any help with a facial recognition search. The man's face was half hidden by one Bucky Barnes anyways, arms thrown around each other's shoulders as they laughed. It was labeled as being taken in Northern Belgium in October, 1944.

"There is nothing from any credible source," JARVIS answered after just a few seconds.

"What about the not so credible sources?" Tony prompted. When the results came back, he sighed and got himself a cup of coffee. This would be a fun night.

The screen showed eight pages of conspiracy theory websites.

* * *

The next morning, Steve walked into the lab to retrieve Tony for breakfast as usual. It was a well established routine and one of the few things about mornings that Tony actually looked forward to.

Instead of Tony snoozing somewhere in the lab, or in a pantsless frenzy of invention, he was sitting in an armchair laughing so hard he was crying. "Oh my… this is beautiful! Oh god, come and see this, Spangles!" he hooted. The hand he waved shook with his mirth.

The difference visibly startled Steve. He was hesitant, skimming a hand over the workstation like he wanted to grab it and stop himself from moving forward but couldn't help it. "What is it?" he asked, eyeing the screen warily.

"Listen to this!" Tony said gleefully, " _In conclusion, I believe that the mysterious seventh Howling Commando is Tony Stark, having time traveled to the past and died there before he could prevent Bucky Barnes from being turned into the Winter Soldier._ Isn't that some shit?" He could barely keep his voice from warbling at the mere idea. Him, a Howling Commando? Even as he scrolled back to the top to look at the pictures again, he snorted disdainfully and danced in his seat at once.

The laugh Steve gave sounded forced. "Yeah, that's… pretty unbelievable," he agreed.

"I know, right? I mean, if anyone could invent time travel it would be me, but me, a Howling Commando? Please." Tony snorted. That was about as likely as Bucky Barnes being alive and part of HYDRA.

"You don't give yourself enough credit. I think you could do it," Steve answered. His face was white as paper, but there was a valiant attempt at a smile.

The unwarranted praise was flattering. "Aw, shucks, Cap. You're making me blush," Tony joked, praying his tan covered up the very real heat flooding up his neck to his cheeks.

"Have you been reading these… things, all night?" Steve asked with concern. He was reading over Tony's shoulder now, frowning at the contents of the webpage.

"Well, yeah," Tony replied. When Cap got to the end of the view, he scrolled down a little more.

Two of the pictures were side by side, one a blurry closeup of a picture the man hadn't been able to escape and another of Tony. They were in almost the exact same position, leering playfully up at someone to their right, hands shoved in pockets. Admittedly they really did look alike. If it weren't impossible, Tony would wonder.

When he looked to his left, the bottom dropped out of his stomach. The light of the monitor only emphasized the the blue of Steve's eyes; they were damp and he was blinking rapidly. He didn't even notice Tony staring at him, just devoured the images on the screen.

"Uh, Cap? You okay over there?" Tony was tempted to wave a hand in front of the other man's face.

That broke Steve out of his staring contest with the computer. "Yeah, yeah, I just…" he trailed off, a smile slowly rising on his face. "I didn't think there were any pictures of him beyond his autopsy. It's good to see his face again." He looked from the screen to Tony and back again, teeth shiny as he grinned.

Somehow Tony hadn't expected that. "Oh. I thought somebody doctored them up," he said, going back to the photos with a more serious eye. There had been plenty of chance for someone to alter the face of the unknown man, especially since Jim Morita wasn't in most of the shots. They were about the same height and had dark hair. Someone could very well have played a prank that got out of control.

Except that according to Cap, the mystery Commando actually existed. This was a real doozy of a day already.

"What was his name?" Tony asked, leaning back to better contemplate. And bump his shoulder into a muscular arm.

"Tony," Steve said.

"Yes?" It was an automatic response.

It got Steve to laugh, at least. "That was his name," he corrected fondly, "He was Tony Starosta. One of my best friends." Once again he practically ate up the picture, before shaking his head and straightening up.

"That's kinda funny. Starosta was my mom's maiden name. She was Polish, came to America as a kid," Tony said, puzzling at the strangeness. It only made the pictures weirder, because he and this man _did_ look startlingly alike, but his uncle had died during the Depression. Maybe they were distant cousins.

"Anyway, there's an Agent Coulson up top, he wants to speak to us," Steve put in helpfully. Or not.

Not for the first time, Tony groaned at the mention of Coulson. Whenever Agent got involved, shit was about to hit the fan. Or already had. It was a tossup which one this meeting would be about.

Steve looked sympathetic. "Better get this done and over with, right?" he suggested.

"If you say so." Tony sighed. He heaved himself off the armchair and let out a gasp as his back cracked after hours of being hunched over in the same position. Maybe he should have taken a break between websites…

The meeting wasn't quite so bad. If nothing else, the other two men were very funny when they were uncomfortable.

"The Avengers Initiative was put on ice," Agent told them, before he realized what he said. "Oh, sorry, Captain Rogers." It was almost cute how contrite he was.

"The Avengers Initiative?" Steve asked, adding awkwardly afterward, "Which I know nothing about." It was a bold faced lie. He and Tony had gone through their personnel files together.

Agent let it go. Probably because he was still star-struck at being in the same room with _Captain America_. Instead of commenting on how, no, Steve _shouldn't_ know anything because he wasn't given a copy of those top-secret documents, he turned to Tony. "The files on it must be returned to SHIELD or destroyed."

With a flippant wave of his hand, Tony retrieved the folders from where he and Steve had read them on the sofa. It was no hardship to let go of them; copies were in JARVIS's servers anyways. "Anything else?" he asked, faux cheerful. Now that he was jerked away from the glow of the computer, he was beginning to realize just how tired he was.

"I think that's it. Have a good day Captain Rogers, Mr Stark," Agent told them before he showed himself the door. If nothing else he was a master of knowing when he wasn't wanted, and reacting accordingly.

Now that he was no longer required to be anything but a tired human being, Tony slouched over to the sofa. It was made for naps like the one he intended to take.

Instead he was turned by a gentle hand on his shoulder toward the stairs. "Sleep," Steve told him in that delicious tone of command.

"Only if you sleep with me," Tony flirted with a wink.

Steve went red as the Iron Man armor. "That's flattering, Tony, but-" He stumbled adorably over his words in an effort to not be a dick about his rejection.

"It's fine Spangles, I was just messing with you," Tony told him, grinning. He patted the brawny chest fondly and moved to head up to what was his room again.

The knowledge that for two weeks it was _their_ room was expertly ignored. Ever since the ceiling got repaired and Steve repatriated to his own room, he had been ignoring the emptiness in his bed. Every time he settled into that too-big bed in that too-empty room he reached behind him, feeling for where Steve got to ("Get over here, dammit,") only to realize that he was alone. It invariably sent his heart to a region around his pelvis.

Tony was sure that the super soldier hadn't minded. The man was vocal about what was acceptable (Tony sleeping in a bed) and what wasn't (Tony sleeping in the lab) and he hadn't said anything about them sharing a bed while the house was being reconstructed. Truth be told, they woke up cuddling more often than not. Neither of them had flipped, no matter that every single time it happened Tony was sure the arc reactor would fail. No, they got up and said good morning and went about their days like they hadn't just woken up with Steve clutching the smaller man like he would disappear and Tony holding a huge icy hand to his arc reactor.

A few times Tony had realized that there was morning wood pressed against the cleft between his butt and thighs and if he squirmed just so… But he had always controlled himself. No matter how he fantasized about it, he wanted everything kosher and without regrets. Which led to-

"Well, unless you're up for that. Then you're perfectly welcome to _sleep with me_ \- and not get any sleep in the process," Tony invited, smirking. He stretched lazily, like a cat, and felt baby blues burning into him for all of half a second. It was a little disappointing.

"I'm not the person for that, Tony," Steve answered tightly. Huh. Must not be into guys.

"Shame. Well, night, then," Tony replied, waving a hand over his shoulder. He made sure to huff out a little laugh before he got up the stairs. People worried if he wasn't being his usual debonaire asshole self, including those who really knew him. He didn't want Steve worried, not about him.

A sigh echoed the whole way up from the living room. "JARVIS, can you turn on the next movie from the list Pepper and Tony made?" Steve requested. Did he still look at the ceiling when talking to the AI?

"Of course, Captain Rogers," JARVIS answered serenely. Then the theme to The Exorcist came on and Tony was tempted to cackle. Thankfully he managed to stifle it until he got into his (soundproofed) bedroom.

Steve wouldn't know what hit him.

(If that night Tony rolled over to make room for a shivering super soldier to climb into bed with him, neither of them mentioned it. If he made a mental note to put many more horror movies on the list, he never mentioned that either.)

* * *

The days passed and Christmas eventually came. Tony incinerated the piece of crap phone SHIELD had gotten for Cap all those months ago and proudly replaced it with a Starkphone. Plus free lessons on how to use it, of course.

When Steve unveiled his gift, Tony immediately felt like a schmuck. Yes, this was a handmade gift from him to his admitted crush. Yes, he put all the thought in the world into it, taking out the stuff nobody ever used anyways and building it as tough as he could to withstand a life of monsters and mayhem.

It felt like nothing compared to what he found upon opening what he already knew was a canvas, about three feet wide and two feet tall. At first he thought it would be interesting, maybe something Steve had found when exploring the local flea markets. Then he turned it around, looked at the painting itself, and his breath caught in his throat. Forget interesting, it was stunning.

For someone who had been there for the event, the painting was immediately recognizable. It was of Tony surrounded by the neutrons and electrons of Starkinium, when they were still searching for the cure to his palladium poisoning. Most of the lab was thrown into shadow, simply outlines and the occasional few details lit up by the model thrown around the room. The little orbs actually appeared to glow and it took Tony a minute to realize that it was just paint, no lighting or anything else attached. In the middle of it all a dark haired man stood and he recognized himself in the messy hair, the wide shoulders and the slight blue glow radiating out from his torso. Best of all, the corner was signed, ' _Merry Christmas, Tony. -Steve Rogers._ '

"You actually painted this?" Tony couldn't help asking, gesturing to the work.

Steve, who had been shuffling nervously, stopped and smiled. "I hope you don't mind," he replied.

"No, no, not at all, I love pictures of me," Tony rambled, "But this, this is…" He trailed off, taking in all the little details he missed the first time. Was that Dummy in the corner? It was.

"I called it 'A Man In His Element'. It seemed appropriate," Steve told him, coming a little closer. He was only a couple of feet away now, beaming proudly.

All Tony could think was that he was one of the luckiest people on earth. It did give him an idea, however. "You know that I do a yearly charity auction, sometimes more than once if something spectacularly shitty happens?" he asked, the corners of his lips twitching as the gears in his head turned.

"Like the one in July?" Steve asked. He grimaced at the memory.

Tony similarly flinched. Some woman harassed Steve all night, right until the billionaire decided it pissed him off and pretended he'd had too much to drink so they could go home. The party had been over for him within the first fifteen minutes anyways. "Usually there's less sexual harassment," he said.

It made Steve's lips go thin. "But it's still present," he pointed out.

"I try to prevent that sort of thing, but I do sometimes have to throw some pigs out," Tony acknowledged, "Anyway, I was thinking that if you want, and only if you want, you could paint something for the next charity run?" Another look at the new painting only solidified the notion. While he liked being the only one in this century to have a custom painting by Captain Steve Rogers, there was so much good that could come out of this.

The look on Steve's face was one of a man who had expected literally anything else. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Smirking, Tony raised an eyebrow. "Not up to it, Gramps?" he teased.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm up for it, I'm just… I didn't expect you to like it this much," he said, that smile growing all over again. This time it was bigger, lighting up his whole face and making him almost fucking glow.

"Uh, yeah, it's great," Tony said awkwardly. He scrambled to his feet and went for one of the walls where he was pretty sure a similarly sized painting had hung before. Luckily he found a nail still there and was able to hang the thing, grinning at the back of his own head as he did.

Have Pepper try and tell him that he had no taste in art, now.

"So, what do you say to a painting for next year's charity function? A hundred percent of proceeds go to the year's charity, you get recognition as something other than Captain America, and I get bragging rights because I've got the first one?" Tony asked, spinning around to survey the other man.

From how he chewed on his lower lip, Steve had a concern or question. "Can it be veterans? The cause, I mean?" he requested.

From what Tony remembered, it had been a couple of years since veteran's associations and support groups were the beneficiaries. "I think I can arrange that," he answered.

He was rewarded by another of those sunny smiles. "Thanks, Tony," Steve said, almost shyly.

The only response to that was a nod. Before things could get awkward, Tony announced, "How about we get to the ham and potatoes part of this whole evening?" He wandered in the direction of the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively.

"It's not ready yet!" Steve called from where he had already sat on the couch.

"It's ham! It's ready whenever I feel like it!" Where his face couldn't be seen, Tony grinned. He knew that it wasn't fully heated; the timer on the microwave was still going. It was just too much fun to drive Steve crazy.

* * *

As he walked into a veteran's hospital, Steve felt like the odd man out. The looks he got when he asked about the World War II groups was at first confused and then understanding, one even asking if he was doing a school project. Awkwardly he had said no and scurried away.

Now that he was here, it was even more foreign. Everyone else here was… like him but older. The same styles and similar phrases, familiar memories and foreign faces. It was like looking into another universe.

Then they all gathered into a circle and each of them told where they were when they heard about Pearl Harbor. Most were at work or on the way to. Some were just getting up for the morning. Each of them told about the shock, the horror, the pain, that they felt when they heard.

It was Steve's turn, and the group was surprisingly understanding considering that they thought he was in college. "My name's Steve Rogers," he began, starting with the easy parts, "I'm from Brooklyn, New York." He had to swallow before finishing, "I served with the SSR from June, '43 until I went MIA in May, '45. Captain America, Howling Commandos." It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest now that he could say it.

Across from him, a tall thin old man whacked a shorter one on the shin with his cane. "I told you it was him," he said in a Brighton Beach accent. And oh, did that bring back memories…

Instead of responding and interrupting the proceedings, Steve simply smiled and went on. "When I first heard about Pearl Harbor it was a few days later. I was sick at the time, and Bucky didn't tell me until after I was done hallucinating. I was, of course, horrified. Angry. And guilty, because I couldn't help thinking, finally we can do something about this war," he said, before gesturing for the man beside him to speak.

"I'm Staff Sergeant Samuel Colt and I was stationed at Pearl Harbor at the time…" the man began.

The circle completed itself and every veteran there spoke. There were a few women who were in the WAC and WAVES, a couple of men who could barely speak anymore. There was an announcement that a man who had been coming to the meetings since they started was consigned to a nursing home.

It felt good to be around people who remembered the war and shared the scars that it left. Then he remembered that for the almost seventy years he'd been in the ice they'd suffered the nightmares, the panic, the automatic reactions that at one time saved their lives. At the same time, Steve couldn't help feeling sick with longing.

That should have been Bucky and Tony and him. They should be in one of those circles in New York, Tony making it up because he hadn't arrived in the past until several months later, and Bucky and Steve solemn. Leaning on their canes or sitting in wheelchairs, all three old and still together. The thought that even if they had all lived through it, they may have still been taken from him too soon, was forcefully banished.

Only when a hand patted his shoulder did he realize that everyone else was already up and mingling outside the circle. Steve's head jerked up to look at who was touching him and saw a face that hadn't been before him since November, 1943. The boy from Brighton Beach was much older, his hair white and fluffy like candyfloss rather than thick and dark, but the hazel eyes that sparkled at him from behind thick horn rimmed glasses were the same. It was a welcome familiarity.

"I realized that I never thanked you for saving us that day at Azzano," the old man said, "Lance Corporal Barry Pajari, at your service." He gave a smile that showed three missing teeth but all the joy in the world.

Steve shook his head as he got to his feet. "No need, sir," he said awkwardly. How does one tell a man that his freedom being restored was an accident on an unauthorized, selfish, suicide mission?

From the look Corporal Pajari had, he knew it. "And I never got to say how sorry I was after your friends died," he added.

The use of the plural was not missed. "You remember him? You remember Tony?" Steve asked hopefully.

Corporal Pajari snorted. "How could I not remember him?" he asked with a loud laugh, "The way he scared off that assassin, twice…! I always wondered who exactly he was." His voice was fond as he remembered what were probably some of the hardest days and nights of his life.

A younger, but still elderly, woman joined them. She sighed at Corporal Pajari and pointed out, "I see Daniel over there." She gestured to a spot by the doors where a small group of men were gathered.

Immediately Corporal Pajari brightened up. "You don't say…" he mumbled, and began shuffling away.

"Sorry about him. He's beginning to get dementia, see?" the woman said with a sad smile at the Corporal, "Talking about people who weren't there, things that never happened…" She peered up at Steve with incredibly lucid brown eyes. "Thank you, though. Without you, I never would have met him. And we never would have married or any of it," she added with a widening of her pink painted mouth.

Steve didn't have the heart to tell her about the lipstick on her teeth. "No need for thanks," he told her as well, "Just doing what I thought was right." Not that it was, necessarily, but he didn't regret a moment of it.

Understanding, Mrs Pajari moved on with a nod and a pat to his arm.

When Steve began mingling, a pattern quickly became apparent. The only ones to remember Tony or the Winter Soldier were those with memory problems. The rest thought those two men, and the events associated with them, were all part of their fading mental state.

Not that he spent the entire meeting thinking of that. There were other memories, of course. Lines broken and factories raided, POWs freed or made with each mission. The terrible camp food that seemed common to every theater of the war was complained about with a laugh now that they could.

When Tony appeared near the end, he was greeted with enthusiasm by Corporal Pajari and a Sergeant Donovan. "Whoa whoa whoa, what's going on here?" he asked, smiling, even as he looked at Steve for help.

"I heard you was dead! Glad to see you ain't, sir," Sergeant Donovan answered with a gummy grin from his wheelchair.

Alarm fizzled through Steve. Lesson number one that he had gotten from every book on time travel he had access to: the time traveler can't know too much. "Settle down guys, it's just Tony Stark," he told the vets who remembered right, wading through the crowd to his man. When he passed Corporal Pajari, he winked at the man.

The nod he got back was with an expression of awe. With only a phrase and a wink, the man knew more than Tony did. If it weren't so sad, it would be funny.

"Thanks for the welcome guys, but we, uh, gotta go. Calisthenics, you know," Tony half joked.

Rolling his eyes, Steve followed. A last look over his shoulder and a wave cemented his decision to come back again. He needed to face his past sometime and this might be a good place to do it.

For now, it was time to keep going.


	8. What Makes a Monster

Thank you to the reviewers: **Terri'smind** , **Garfunkyel** , **DoublePaws** , and **ESTswimmer**! You're wonderful. Also, thanks for the birthday wishes. The day sucked, but your reviews made me feel better.

I'm so sorry for not posting last week! I ended up having a complete emotional breakdown that it took several days to recover from. It was the furthest thing from fun for anyone. But things are generally better now.

Just a note, but the name of this chapter has nothing to do with it being from Bruce's point of view. It's the first section of a two part title. You'll see next week.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: What Makes a Monster**

" _Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."_

― _George Bernard Shaw_

When he was recruited for this mess of an operation, Bruce never thought he would work with the likes of Captain America. Not to mention Tony Stark. It wasn't until the quinjet landed on the helicarrier that he saw the two and was blown away.

Of course, he was as psyched for the opportunity as he was pissed at the way they brought him in on it. Meeting the pinnacle of biological engineering and the brightest mind in the world of electrical and mechanical engineering was a dream come true. What geek on this planet wouldn't kill to be in his shoes right now?

The reality was very different from Bruce's expectations, however.

Somehow, he hadn't expected to get wrapped up in Stark's- no, Tony's- charm so easily. The man could talk Jesus into violence. As it was, they easily got wrapped into science talk before Bruce could be introduced to Captain America.

A polite cough interrupted them from near the doorway Tony had entered by.

Like it was an afterthought, Tony said, "Oh, this is Steve. Captain America." Then he started chattering away again.

The minute he saw Captain Rogers, the Hulk let out a low growl in the back of his head. It wasn't a complete surprise that the world's best soldier would be considered a threat, but the warning was startling none the less. What does an indestructible monster have to worry about from an enhanced but otherwise ordinary man?

"Good to meet you. Word is you can help us find the cube," Captain Rogers said with a friendly smile.

"Is that the only word on me around here?" Bruce asked nervously. He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear.

"It's the only word that matters to me." It was a subtle reassurance.

Despite the Hulk's unease, Bruce relaxed minutely. At least one part of Captain America's legend was rooted in fact: he didn't discriminate. That was enough to go on for now.

For the most part the two stayed out of each other's way after that. There wasn't much overlap between their fields of expertise.

Of course, they were all gathered together in the conference room after Loki's stunt in Germany, but the two didn't interact. Bruce noted oddly that the only other people he got so much as a snarl out of from the Hulk were Black Widow and Fury. There was a huff in Thor's direction, an almost affectionate growl at Tony, but nothing like the reaction Captain Rogers had caused. It was temporarily driven to the back of Bruce's mind by discussion of what to do with the alien trickster who thought of himself as a god.

The first time Bruce and Captain Rogers talked after their introduction, it was less than dramatic. In a display of callous disregard for his life (and everyone else on the ship) Tony had poked his fellow scientist with an electric rod and risked setting off the Hulk. If Bruce didn't have such a tight grip on the monster within, he may have.

Rather than the angry tirade expected, Captain Rogers only gave them a stern look and a sigh. "We just got through keeping you alive," he reprimanded Tony, unfooled by his look of innocence, "Don't go trying to get yourself killed just yet." After a short pause he added, "No offense to you, Doctor." Bruce got the feeling that he was rather attached to Tony; they must have known each other a while.

"Oh no, not at all. I wouldn't have come aboard if I didn't think I could handle pointy things," Bruce said, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand.

"Good. I'd really hate for all our hard work to go to waste," Captain Rogers said approvingly.

"Question, Cap, you think something fishy is going on here?" Tony asked. He leaned back on the counter casually and quirked an eyebrow at the captain.

"Fishy? Like what?" Captain Rogers questioned, frowning now.

"Why did Fury call us in now? Not before? What isn't he telling us?" Tony asked hypothetically, sashaying around the table to get his dried blueberries. "I can't do the equation unless I have all the variables." His expression was expectant as he offered each of them the bag.

After a moment of chewing, Captain Rogers responded. "You think they're hiding something," he said with icy disapproval. The effect was nearly ruined by him shoving the rest of his blueberries into his mouth.

"I _know_ they're hiding something. Fury isn't just _a_ spy, he's _the_ spy. His secrets have secrets," Tony scoffed. Admittedly, he was right. His phrasing could have been better, though.

There was a moment of silence in the lab as Bruce checked the readings and the other men in the lab analyzed each other. For not being hostile, the air was extremely tense.

"It's bugging him too, isn't it?" Tony asked, bringing Bruce in on an argument he really didn't want to be a part of.

"Listen, I, uh, I just want to finish my work here…" Bruce said, gesturing to what he was currently working on.

"Doctor?" The word was surprisingly teasing. Captain Rogers tilted his head to the side, questioning, with a corner of his lips twitching upward.

"A warm light for all mankind. Loki's jab at Fury about the Cube," Bruce said, fiddling with his glasses, "Well, I think that was meant for you." He gestured to Tony.

Immediately Captain Roger's expression stiffened and grew harsh. Forget fond of, more like he was protective of Tony. "What?"

It took more focus than Bruce wanted to calm the Hulk. "Even if Barton didn't tell Loki about the tower, it was still all over the news," he continued, carefully keeping the desk between himself and Captain Rogers, "It's powered by an arc reactor, a self sustaining energy source. That building will run itself for what, a year?" He looked to Tony to check.

"It's just the prototype," Tony deflected expertly, "You know I'm kinda the only name in clean energy right now."

"So why didn't Fury bring him in on the Tesseract project? What are they doing in the energy business in the first place?" Bruce finished.

Tony circled the table to one of the screens, blueberries in hand, and began tapping at it. "I should probably look into that once my decryption program finishes breaking into all of SHIELD's secure files," he said with false lightness. It was more predatory than any growl Bruce had heard.

It looked like Captain Rogers couldn't believe his ears as he watched Tony search through the files he had gained access to. "I'm sorry, did you just say…" He didn't finish. He obviously didn't want to.

"JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours I'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide," Tony said with satisfaction.

Suddenly Captain Rogers deflated. He let out a little chuckle as he looked down at his boots, then back at Tony. "Just like you," he said wistfully.

The whole situation felt a little too personal for Bruce, suddenly. He turned to check on another screen that would put the two out of his immediate line of vision. Definitely not with his back to Captain Rogers, however. The Hulk didn't like that idea at all.

"Well, yeah. How long did it take you to figure that out?" Tony taunted with a smile in his voice.

"You two keep looking for the Tesseract. I'll keep my eyes open," Captain Rogers ordered casually before he strolled out.

Once the super soldier's footsteps, unusually light for such a large man, faded away, Bruce looked back at Tony with a quirked eyebrow. "I didn't expect him to be that easy to convince," he commented before moving to another station.

Tony's smile was decidedly fond as he flitted to a nearby screen. "I stopped trying to predict him six months ago," he said wryly, "The one thing I can say for sure is that he's always going to try to protect me." So quietly that he surely didn't mean for it to be heard, he added, "Even when I don't deserve it." That must have been quite the story. Probably something to do with the Stark Expo thing that even Bruce had heard about, half a world away.

Clearing his throat, Tony then changed subjects- and attitudes- so fast it nearly made Bruce's head spin. Suddenly he was confident and outgoing again, telling his fellow scientist that he needed to strut, not tip toe, and asking what his secret was. His effect on the space around them was immense; whatever he felt he sent out into the room, whether he noticed or not.

The friendly banter lasted until the decryption found relevant results. What the bug found must not have been pretty, considering Tony's incensed mutterings.

Fury stormed into the room demanding answers. "What have you been doing, Mr Stark?"

"Um, kind of been wondering the same thing about you," Tony replied carelessly, not even looking away from his screen.

"You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract," Fury told them, half way between disappointed and (excuse the pun) furious.

"We are," Bruce cut in, "The model's locked and we're sweeping for the signal now. When we get a hit, we'll have the location within half a mile." He pointed at where the program was running, and took Fury's turning to look at it as an opportunity to slide closer to Tony. At least right now, he had the other scientist's back.

"Yeah, you get your Cube back. No muss, no fuss," Tony said, somewhere between admirably and stupidly unconcerned about the whole thing as he messed with the screen more, "What _is_ Phase 2?" The question was just thrown out there like it was common knowledge. He was showing his hand early.

Even more angrily than Fury, Captain Rogers stormed in holding a bulky gun about the size of an AK-47. His grip was secure but he held it far from his body and slammed it down as soon as he reached a table, uncomfortable with having it anywhere near. "Phase 2 is SHIELD uses the Cube to make weapons," he snapped, turning betrayed eyes on the man supposedly in charge.

"Rogers, we related everything related to the Tesseract. This does not mean that we're-" Fury tried to lie.

Tony cut in, pulling up a diagram on screen and turning it to face the rest of the room. "I'm sorry Nick, what were you lying?" he asked mockingly. The diagram was of a missile and all its parts being put together.

"I was wrong, Director. The world hasn't changed a bit," Captain Rogers said. He was beyond betrayal now, into the realm of cynicism as he looked down the end of his nose at the man who had brought them all there. They were repeating the same mistakes his generation made and he visibly couldn't stand it.

That was when Thor and Black Widow entered the room. It was the perfect opportunity to distract himself from the captain and the Hulk's strange complex about him. "Did you know about this?" he asked of the female spy.

"You want to think about removing yourself from this environment, Doctor?" Black Widow suggested almost pleasantly.

"I was in Calcutta. I was pretty well removed," Bruce told her, chuckling at the audacity. The moment he got a little tense, everyone started bringing out their pitchforks.

The room descended into an argument. If it weren't for the emotional volatility of the situation Bruce was sure it wouldn't have even been that much of one. From weapons development to planetary defense, to personal slights, it descended right on down the ladder to a petty feud.

If he weren't so wary of the captain's movements, Bruce wouldn't have noticed the aborted motion he made as if to come to Fury's aid. Instead he shook his head, scrunched up his face in pain. "Shut up, all of you SHUT UP!" he shouted over Black Widow's snippy comment about them all being on threat watch.

The tension broke. They all stood there in the lab, blinking and dazed, coming out of a fog.

"What was that?" Tony asked, holding the side of his head.

"I don't know, I just… That wasn't us," Captain Rogers responded, looking from person to person for answers.

"I know when I'm angry. That wasn't _my_ anger, that was something else," Bruce admitted. It was more than a little nerve wracking. With how much of his control relied on his temper not snapping, they could have had the Hulk rampaging in just a few more minutes.

Even Thor looked confused. He seemed like a generally well put together guy, not the kind that would get into this sort of petty argument. So what happened?

They didn't have an opportunity to figure it out. The program beeped, alerting them to the location of the Tesseract. "You located the Tesseract?" Thor questioned, surprised.

"Iron Man can get there fastest," Tony said quickly, before looking at Captain Rogers, "Spangles?" He was obviously inviting the man to go along, perhaps even be carried there by the armor.

"Right. I'll get the location. You get Iron Man ready. I'll meet you both in the hangar," Captain Rogers said decisively. He moved toward the console, as well as everyone else.

As he was the closest, Bruce was at the terminal the fastest. The minute he saw the location, he looked up at the rest of the room. "Oh my god,"

The floor of the lab exploded and suddenly everything was green. Some things Bruce remembered of the next half hour or so, but not much. He remembered that the Hulk was pissed he couldn't pick up Thor's hammer, which he found funny, and he remembered trying to hunt down Black Widow, the least of the three main threats the Hulk had felt on board, which was significantly less funny. Otherwise it was all a big blur.

When he woke up in the ruins of that building, he was grateful the only thing he could hear was animal noises. He was far from a city and hopefully no one had been around. It made the soreness and dust and nakedness more bearable that he hopefully hadn't hurt anyone.

The behavior of the guard who found them didn't indicate differently. "Son, you have a condition," the man pronounced gravely. A sparkle in his eye almost made Bruce smile.

"Too bad there's no treatment," Bruce said dryly. He made to get to his feet and was startled when a hand appeared in his line of sight.

The guard was offering to help him. Even after seeing the Hulk, he wasn't afraid.

It finalized a decision that Bruce hadn't even known he was making. "Do you know how I could get to New York fastest?" he questioned. Maybe he could do some good there.

The guard gave him a look and nodded to himself. "Can you ride a motorbike?" he asked.

"I don't have the license," Bruce admitted. He followed the man to a shed anyways and helped pull out a dirty old style motorcycle.

"I didn't ask if you had the license, I asked if you could ride it," the guard retorted and slapped a key into his palm, "Sounds like NYC is a hot spot and they need you there." He handed a shirt to Bruce and went digging for a helmet.

"Yes, I know how." It was a miracle this thin old man had clothing in Bruce's size. As he buttoned up he thanked his lucky stars for it.

"No helmet. I'm not sure you need it though, with your condition," the guard told him with a wry smile.

"Thanks. What's your name?" Bruce asked. He had to find out so he could return this stuff later.

"Tim Stewart," the guard replied, "And you?" He probably wanted to know who he was loaning his stuff to.

"Bruce Banner." It felt an awful lot like an action movie when he rode off. He would have said into the sunset, but it was full day.

The whole drive from the crash site was full of fear and nerves crowding into his belly. They said he was only needed to find the Cube, and he had done that. All the info they needed was on the computers of the helicarrier. So what was he doing?

Gut instinct was driving him now, just as surely as he drove that motorcycle. Something told him that he was needed in New York, so he was headed there.

While he was wary of the Hulk's approval of this choice, he realized that if worst came to worst and he was right, that would be useful. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe it was time for him to stop tip toeing.

When he got to New York, the city was already half wrecked and a portal was open above Stark Tower. Only being able to drive between the stopped cars and around a police blockade allowed him to get to the epicenter in time.

In a circle he recognized Black Widow, Thor, and Captain America. Another man was with them and it wasn't until they got closer that he recognized Clint Barton, Hawkeye. But where was Iron Man?

Bruce parked the motorcycle and got off, all the while looking at the destruction. "So, this all seems horrible," he commented. It reminded him of when he woke up after breaking Harlem, only with more aliens and spandex.

"I've seen worse," Black Widow replied with a glance at their surroundings.

The reminder of chasing her through the helicarrier was embarrassing. "Sorry about that," Bruce said, and for some reason hoped she would accept it.

"No, we could… use a little worse," she unexpectedly said. There was a weak attempt at a smile, which was more than most other people tried. It was appreciated.

"Iron Man, we've got him," Captain America said randomly. There was probably a comm line in his helmet. "He's here, just like you said," he continued with a smile that was so rare when not directed at Tony.

There was a giant crash and when Bruce looked over his shoulder, he saw a speck of gold and red fleeing from that looked like a flying whale. It looked like his gut was right. He was needed here after all. The mere idea was enough to make him appreciate having the Hulk for the first time.

A rumbling growl signaled that Big Green was ready to come out at any time. _Stupid Banner, you always needed me._

The sentiment was less ignored and more put on the back burner as Bruce started walking toward where Iron Man led the gigantic alien toward them. When Black Widow stammered about not seeing how this was a party, he and the Hulk both grinned.

"Doctor Banner, now might be a really good time for you to get angry," Captain America suggested, readying his stance to fight.

Thankfully Iron Man had led his pursuer down to street level. That would make it easier to smash.

"That's my secret, Cap," Bruce said, preparing himself to transform, "I'm always angry." The change was agonizing as always, but this time he could see through the green. There was communication even as the Hulk smashed the giant alien's head into the pavement with one punch.

For once Bruce was encouraging destruction and making suggestions. Even stranger, the Hulk actually listened sometimes. This was a different scenario than any before and they both relished it. The aliens were a menace and needed to be rid of. What better way to do it?

Smashing the 'puny god' that had tried to use the Hulk as so many others was intensely satisfying. There are no words for how much affection Bruce felt for his alter ego in that moment. They had taken the biggest player on the other side out of the game with little effort.

The aliens seemed to never end and it only pissed off both of them even more. The Hulk smashed and fought, just like Captain America said, but Bruce wondered if they were really able to win.

Then Iron Man flew by, guiding what Bruce recognized as a missile. Had the government actually launched a nuke at Manhattan? The mere concept was enough for another wave of fury to crash over him.

On the street below, he was able to hear over the noise, "You know that's a one way ticket." It was Captain America, and his voice was breaking.

The Hulk was disinterested in hearing anything further, so he went back to smashing.

Bruce screamed at him to listen because was Iron Man really-

Red and gold armor disappeared into the portal, piggybacking the missile. But why wasn't he reappearing? The suit could do hairpin turns at the drop of a hat, it shouldn't take this long.

The beam keeping the portal open fizzled to a stop and the blackness of space gradually disappeared in a shape like a waterspout. Where was Iron Man? He needed to get out of there right now, or else…

Red and gold had never been so welcome. Not a few seconds before only blue sky was left, Iron Man fell out of the closing portal. There was no sign of control, though. Not even an attempt to regain flight. The suit must have shut down.

With an alarmed thought about _Tin Man_ the Hulk swooped in to the rescue. Like Tarzan, the enormous green rage monster plucked Iron Man out of freefall and took the brunt of the fall on himself. It was strangely endearing how much he had grown to care for the pilot.

Then again, considering how the Hulk threw the man off him, maybe that was just Bruce being a sentimental idiot.

A snort agreed, but the way beady green eyes focused on the armor spoke for itself.

Not a few seconds later, Thor and Captain America were on the scene. The god made a move to take off the visor, but the captain stopped him. "Nobody can know who he is," the American said seriously.

Though he obviously hated it, Thor stepped aside.

Captain America crouched beside Iron Man and shook him. Then he looked down at the chest of the armor. The scream he gave couldn't have been human.

Immediately the Hulk balked. Warnings flared through Bruce's mind and his alter ego's, and they both wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. Neither could explain it, but they needed to leave and so did Thor.

The stupid god was moving _toward_ Captain America.

When the national icon looked up, his eyes were dead. The very air around him had changed and it spelled out danger.

The Hulk let out a roar, challenging the super soldier. He couldn't let another person who understood them be killed, and not by Captain America.

There was a splutter and Iron Man partially sat up. The light in his chest was glowing again. "Sorry, the suit went down. It wasn't designed for space travel," he told them.

Everything changed again, so fast that Bruce had a hard time taking it in.

Captain America was smiling through his tears as he threw himself on Iron Man in a hug. "We won," he said, in awe, as he released the armored man.

"We won? Oh, great, let's take the day off. Not come into work tomorrow," Iron Man suggested and even through the grainy filter his voice was relieved.

From the laugh he gave, Captain America agreed.

"We still need to deal with Loki," Thor reminded them. He obviously didn't look forward to that.

Bruce certainly did.

There was something strange and different about Loki when he next saw the god. Fear, and some confusion, were certainly present as he said, "I think I'd like that drink, now." What was that about?

The minute SHIELD took Loki into custody, the entire group deflated. Hawkeye rubbed his forehead with one hand, more tired than ever, while Black Widow bumped him affectionately with a shoulder. Without thought Thor slumped onto one of the surviving sofas, black thoughts in his face. Even the Iron Man armor looked worn down and Captain America leaned on it with a content smile.

"I need to get the suit back to the workshop," Iron Man unexpectedly put in.

"What do you say to dinner after?" Clint suggested sensibly.

"I am famished," Thor declared, as everyone else made noises of agreement.

Now that the drama was over, the Hulk decided he didn't have any business here. He returned control willingly for the first time. Maybe that was why the transition was less painful.

No one batted an eye at the naked scientist. The only thing that happened was Thor offering his cape to cover up with.

What did it say about today that wearing a Norse god's cape as a toga in Stark Tower in the company of two assassins and two superheroes wasn't a big thing? A little smile tilted Bruce's lips at the thought.

There was something sad about Iron Man's voice as he said, "Sorry, I can't. Nobody can know who I am."

Bruce couldn't have been the only one to think that was terrible. "Contract?" he asked.

The armor's head nodded.

"That's bullshit," Clint proclaimed, scowling. He folded his arms over his chest mulishly.

"That's the way it is," Iron Man responded. When he walked through the group to get to the elevator, no one stopped him.

"Iron Man?" Black Widow asked as the mysterious pilot waited for the doors to open.

Iron Man tilted his head to show he was listening.

"You're a hero. Not knowing who you are doesn't make you any less of one," Black Widow unexpectedly put in. She shifted uncomfortably, but made no motion to take the words back.

The doors dinged open and Iron Man entered the elevator.

"Tony's in the lab, right?" Captain America asked as he followed.

"Should be. He already insists on getting shawarma the second he can come out," Iron Man replied.

The captain's smile could have put Times Square to shame as the doors closed behind them.

Now it was just four strangers left, for all intents and purposes. Bruce eyed each of the others before he asked, "Anybody else really want a shower?"

The look Black Widow gave him was poisonous.

If he hadn't been too busy holding up his makeshift toga, Bruce would have put his hands up in surrender.

* * *

The day after the Battle of New York, as the papers were calling it, found Bruce fidgeting with a pen at a conference desk. The fallout was immense, but that wasn't why Fury had called this meeting. If it was, Iron Man and Steve would be here.

"What do you think is going on?" he asked Natasha. While the Hulk still grumbled about her, it wasn't the feral snarl of before and he was grateful. Already she had proved herself a master of understated comedy. (Steve's face as she ribbed him about his age via Coulson's vintage Captain America trading cards was priceless.)

"Phil said it was about Steve. He didn't seem happy," she half answered, referring the hospitalized agent. It was a miracle he was even alive, never mind awake and upset.

The door slid open before Bruce could think on it. "How does Coulson always know?" Fury asked, unimpressed.

From how they shrugged, the spies were just as in the dark. "I keep saying…" Clint trailed off.

"Yeah, yeah, you keep saying the post-World War II super soldier experiments were actually a success and Coulson was one of them," Fury said, rolling his eyes (eyes?) at the theory he had probably heard a thousand times before, "I get it. We've all heard it. What we haven't heard, is why you asked me to call this meeting and why you insisted Cap and Iron Man couldn't be here for it." He leaned on the table, face completely serious now.

Startled, Bruce's head swiveled to look at the archer. What could he have seen that the rest didn't?

Natasha scrutinized her fellow spy briefly. Hadn't she known? Bruce was sure she would have.

"Why are the captain and the man of iron not here?" Thor questioned, confused, from the other side of the table. Some intern had brought him a box of strawberry pop tarts as thanks for saving the world, and he was in the process of munching his way through them.

"Listen, I don't like saying it any more than you like hearing it. But we can't leave things up to chance," Clint said. He took a deep breath, and looked down at his folded hands, before he met each of the Avengers' eyes. "We need a plan for when we eventually have to take out Captain America."

Thank god Bruce wasn't eating. As it was, he managed to choke on his own spit.

Thor paused in the middle of chewing a pop tart and even Natasha reacted, lips dropping the slightest bit open.

At the other end of the table, Fury raised an eyebrow. "I can certainly see why you don't want Captain Rogers around for this. What does Iron Man have to do with it?" he asked. No questions about why it would be necessary. Just that.

"He's one of our hardest hitters," Natasha acknowledged, pulling herself together admirably.

As much as he hated the idea, Bruce could only agree with Clint's precautions. "Iron Man is too personally involved," he said with a shake of his head.

"I am afraid that I do not understand the need for such drastic measures. Has the captain not led us fairly thus far?" Thor asked once he swallowed his pop tart.

In the heart of the storm, Clint weathered it admirably. "You didn't see what I did," he told the god, not a single joke in sight for once.

Bruce couldn't help shooting back. "And you didn't feel what I did."

Everything stopped. "The Hulk?" Fury questioned, voice deadly.

Now that he put his foot in it, Bruce knew he had to finish. "He thinks of Captain America the same way the rest of you think of me," he continued tensely, "A ticking time bomb. And I have to agree." He never thought he would agree with the Hulk on anything, least of all the world's first superhero.

"Thor, you were there when we thought Iron Man was dead. If he hadn't woken up when he did, we would have seen Cap go off his fucking trolley. He was already half there," Clint said, eyes stormy as he remembered. His arms tightened around his torso, a feeble attempt at protecting himself.

"Your phrasing is strange, but your argument is valid. The captain did appear to briefly lose himself in grief," Thor said contemplatively.

It wasn't until Natasha sat down again that Bruce realized she had even left. A thick folder was slapped onto the table, making the whole room jump with the noise. On its cover were two stamps with eagles on them, one with the letters SSR and the other the official SHIELD logo. A third stamp was in red and spelled out, "CLASSIFIED" in large block letters.

It seemed that Fury had just stopped trying to figure out his spies. "I won't even ask how you got into clearance level nine files," he said, pointing across the table at it.

The look Natasha gave him was disparaging. "On December 31, 1944, Captain America and the Howling Commandos were captured and taken to a HYDRA factory as POWs. This is a photo of the facility when they got there." She laid out a picture that looked like every Nazi prison camp Bruce had ever seen depicted, the only change in the logo.

"Not long after, Captain America went on a rampage. The POWs were broken out and the factory destroyed. No HYDRA survivors," Natasha said, fishing in the file again.

Bruce was able to glimpse what looked like a medical report before a second photo was set on the table. The only way he could recognize the factory was because of a particularly gnarled tree by the ruined gates. Objectively, there was no telling what the rubble used to be. "He did his job. Congratulations, well done, take five," he said, more sassily than expected.

It was ignored. "That's what it looked like after. According to the reports, Steve was in a state of unstoppable rage for three days until the POWs got to Liechtenstein. He has no memory of it. Now, I would say it was a fluke, except that none of the Commandos would talk about the cause, and we have a single death report from that mission," Natasha went on, pulling another piece of paper out. This one she held to her chest as she looked from one face to the next.

"You think that this man's death caused the captain's actions," Thor put in, nodding to himself.

With a grimace, Natasha nodded. She laid the picture out carefully on the table.

"What the icy hell is this?" Clint demanded as his sharp eyes roved the photo over and over.

"Gentlemen, meet Anthony Starosta," Natasha said, sitting back with her arms crossed over her chest. Unreadable eyes scanned the paper once more.

All the air got sucked out of the room. It had to have been, otherwise Bruce could have breathed.

Despite it being black and white, yellowed and fragile from age, the photo was remarkably clear. It depicted a corpse on a steel table, dark eyes vacant and mouth hanging ever so slightly open. There was a giant hole in the middle of his chest.

"This is why we need to prepare for _when_ Captain America has to be put down, not if," Clint said, tapping the table right beside the photo, "Because one day the battle will be concentrated on Stark Tower and we won't be able to get Stark out. One day, probably in a future battle, Iron Man will go offline and we won't be as lucky as we were yesterday. And it'll drive Captain America crazy." He paused to make sure his point was made.

"So, how can we prepare to take down a highly respected and internationally beloved national icon, who happens to be a strategist mentioned in the same breath as Eisenhower and Rommel, and the perfect soldier to boot?" Fury questioned, sitting down a chair away from Thor.

No one had an answer for that.

All Bruce could do was stare at the photo and numbly let denial blare through his head. This couldn't be right, it was impossible. What was happening?

Cold dead eyes stared right back at him from Tony Stark's face.


	9. What Makes a Man

Thank you to my amazing reviewers: **Terri'smind** , **Guest** , **Garfunkyel** , **Pickles** , **Zenoneel-Sarior** , and **DoublePaws**! You're all wonderful and deserve good things.

 **IMPORTANT NOTICE** : As I'm participating in Camp NaNo this month, expect me to vanish until the first Friday of August. Between that, a wedding, and a family reunion, I'm going to be slammed. Thanks for your understanding and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

So, who gets the reference I made with the chapter titles? A dream I had actually told me what to write in these two chapters and what to call them. After I finished I saw a connection between the contents of these two chapters and the message put forward by the movie I got the titles from. After all, what makes a monster better than going crazy/making plans to murder one of your teammates, and what makes a better man than putting the world before your own wants?

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: What Makes a Man**

" _It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."_

― _J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_

It was probably going to be an eternal thing, Steve thought as he was escorted to SHIELD's prisoner holding area, wondering how his life ended up like this. He wouldn't change it for the world. But today was very much testing that.

If it wasn't the panic of nightmares about Tony dying in Austria, it was the terror that accompanied yesterday's battle. He had been unable to sleep until Tony crawled into his bed and pressed their backs flush together, shivering despite his warmth. Waking up was no less worrying, the other pillow cold and genius nowhere in sight.

The summons came right after breakfast. While everyone else was headed off to do God knows what (probably sleep in their own beds) Steve got called to SHIELD.

Loki was asking for him.

This was a bad idea, Steve had acknowledged it the minute he was called and he thought so even as he walked down the hall to the most secure cell they had. He had never been one to resist the call of a bad idea. Especially one so curious.

There was still something regal about the alien, even defeated and tossed in a cell. The minute he saw Steve, however, the only comparison possible was to someone who very much wanted to leave the conversation they were currently having. "I was unsure you would come," Loki stated, getting to his feet.

"I originally wasn't," Steve said, crossing his arms.

"I see that you are not one for meaningless pleasantries. In that case, I will get to it," Loki said, which was welcome, "When you all were under the influence of the staff, I was able to see a little of what was in your minds at the time. In yours, I saw a dead man, the same as the mechanic but not."

Steve went cold. How could anyone have known that he was thinking of Tony? "What of it?" he asked sharply.

As if in surrender, Loki held up his hands. A little smile teased the edge of his lips. "Congratulations in breaking out of it. Not even I was able to until your green beast got to me," he said conversationally.

The pieces were coming together. In that moment when Tony and Fury were having it out, a little voice in his mind had whispered that Fury had a point and Tony would have been neck deep in this stuff if he still made weapons… Then his instincts started screaming. _Protect Tony_. The clash had paralyzed Steve, stopped him short and broken the control.

Now Loki wanted to know how he did it. Something about his phrasing niggled at Steve's mind, made him wonder… It was shoved to the back as the alien went on.

"This is not about me," Loki told him.

"For once," Steve snarked.

There was a flash of appreciation in Loki's eyes, but he shrugged concedingly. "I have done a great many things that I do not wish to think about. Perhaps I can begin my amendments with you," he said. It sounded like a (very unwelcome) come on.

"Sorry, I'm not into horses," Steve taunted. It had been one of the first stories he found when he was looking for myths about the Norse gods.

For once Loki reacted like a human and rolled his eyes. "Humans, honestly. Not everything is about sex," he said, disparaging, "I meant something else. Something much more important to you."

"Like what?" Steve asked cautiously. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. This was _Loki_. He was called the God of Mischief for a reason.

The alien smiled deviously. "Time is a delicate thing," he said, "but, if you're careful, it is possible to change the past."

Steve's brain ground to a screeching halt. Changing time… Loki was offering to help him save Tony, as repayment for what he did here.

His logical mind immediately balked at the idea, it was too good to be true. The very idea was enough to get him drunk on the possibilities. And that was where his heart betrayed him, thudding so loud and fast he was surprised it wasn't visible through his shirts. Anything was possible, and if he said yes…

"I'll think about it," Steve said and turned around, ready to go.

"Your scientists expect to have the transport ready by the week's end," Loki warned. He had a time limit.

The only acknowledgement Steve gave was an absent nod as he walked out the door.

In front of the guards he put on his Captain America face, but on the inside his head was buzzing and stomach flip flopping. Even as he walked through SHIELD, accepting words of thanks and admiration for the actions of the day before, he wondered if he should work with the alien in their cell.

Once upon a time, Steve would have jumped at the chance. The word 'yes' would have been out of his mouth before Loki could have even finished his offer.

Now, things were more complicated. While he had loved the Tony of the 1940's and always would, he was fast falling for the genius who hid behind his creations in the present. What would happen to this past-future version of Tony if he did it?

What would happen to the rest of the world? Would Bucky still have fallen from the train? Would it have been Tony instead? Would HYDRA have won because the SSR didn't have his suicidal rage fueling him through ever more insane missions?

Wait, the SSR. Howard. _Peggy._

As he walked across the parking garage to his motorcycle, Steve smiled grimly. After Tony died and Bucky fell, Peggy had been the one to both encourage him and tell him when he was being stupider than usual. According to Tony, she was in a nursing facility in DC and had relatively common lucid moments.

Before anything, Steve pressed the icon on his phone to call Tony. Half thankfully, he got JARVIS instead.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Captain Rogers, but Sir is in the middle of a particularly delicate part of repairing the Mark VII suit. Is there anything I may help you with instead?" the AI asked, unfailingly polite.

Steve's shoulders slumped, though he wasn't sure whether it was in relief or disappointment. "Can you give him a message when he's done?" he asked, fishing through his pockets for keys.

"Of course," JARVIS answered, not quite condescending.

"Tell him I'm headed out of town for a couple of days to see Peggy, in DC. I'll be back soon," he said carefully. He didn't want to give the wrong impression, but couldn't have Tony know too much. As always.

"I will be sure to tell him," JARVIS reassured him.

"Thanks, JARVIS. Bye," Steve said absently as he pressed the 'end call' button. That done, he patted his motorcycle and then straddled it. Kickstand up, he put in the key and revved her up, relaxing at the familiar sound.

It looked like Steve was going on a road trip. Good thing he had some vacation time stocked up.

* * *

Finally, the most exhausting meeting of Bruce's life was over. All he wanted to do was go back to the Tower, eat his weight in rice and beans, then snooze on one of the amazingly comfortable beds that seemed to be around every corner there. For all that Stark Tower looked cold and sharp, there were little comforts everywhere.

It had taken two hours to even convince everyone in the room that they need a plan, never mind to actually figure one out. Three options had been put forward, depending on the circumstances.

The first and easiest was to get Thor to deal with Cap from a distance using his thunder, or at least to disable him so that he could be brought into custody. The second was for the Hulk to be brought out and turn him into star spangled mulch (which Big Green very much didn't like the idea of but relented on). The third and most favorable, but least certain of success, was to hand Steve an impossible mission and send him out to get killed. Depending on who and what was available, other plans had been discussed and all too often involved one of the spies getting closer than they should in order to stab him in the back- literally.

No one had liked that they would eventually have to put these ideas into play. Not even Fury, who was usually the first one to prepare for rogue agents. By the time the final resort was completed (trick Steve into the Hulk's cage and drop him in the Mariana Trench) the entire rest of the team was slouching in their seats.

Even Clint, who had brought this issue up, looked the sort of guilty and tired combination that only came from necessary actions that he still regretted. The way his chin rested on his crossed arms, folded over the table, made him seem tiny.

"Let's hope we don't have to actually use any of these damn plans. Dismissed," Fury told them once the last variables were covered. He rubbed the side of his face with the eye patch.

There was still a great deal that could go wrong, Bruce thought with an unhappy grimace. He had mentioned what Tony said in the helicarrier lab about Steve knowing more than he should, but there was little to be done about that. There was no knowing what he was aware of and what he wasn't. Where that was concerned, they'd have to fly by the seat of their pants.

Natasha's suggestion of sending him out after the Winter Soldier was looking better and better by the minute.

When Bruce heaved himself to his feet, his spine popped in at least five places. He rubbed at his back and considered that maybe going back to the Tower really was the best idea. His alter ego left him tired at the best of times, and the day after two transformations and fighting aliens didn't qualify as that.

"Doctor Banner, I'd like you stay a few minutes," Fury said. He hadn't gotten up, just stayed leaning back in his chair.

When she passed, Natasha gave the scientist a pat on the shoulder. It must have been for luck.

"What did you _do_?" Clint asked, but was the glare his employer shot him had him hurry away without an answer.

Once Thor had left, tossing his box of pop tarts and all the wrappers in the trash on the way out, silence filled the conference room.

Bruce couldn't help it, he began fidgeting with his pen again. "If this is about destroying the helicarrier yesterday…" he trailed off, an apology at the tip of his tongue.

"Anyone asks, that's what we talked about in here," Fury said seriously, recovering quickly from the emotional drain of the previous conversation. Or maybe he hadn't been as affected as he looked. It was hard to tell with him.

"We're talking about something else?" Bruce questioned. He wasn't sure what else there _was_ to talk about. Everything within his two specialties (physics and hulking out) were already dealt with.

The smile Fury gave was so polite it was sarcastic. "Now you're getting it," he said.

"What else could you possibly need me for?" Bruce asked with a nervous laugh.

The file Natasha had left on the table was indicated with a scarred finger. "The fight destroyed a lot of Manhattan, including the cemetery where this guy was buried," Fury said, satisfied, "A lot of graves displaced. Joseph and Sarah Rogers, empty caskets for Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes… and this guy. They're going to get reburied soon, but before they do, we need Starosta's DNA." It was a simple and elegant way of getting around the ethics of digging him up. And more disquieting than not.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm not that kind of doctor," Bruce refuted with a sigh. Why did everyone seem to think he was?

"You're as good as," Fury shot back.

Admittedly, Bruce had spent as much time looking at DNA as studying anything else over the past decade. But that wasn't what he really wanted to know. "Why me?" he asked.

It took a minute of withstanding a full force glare to get an answer. "Because I know you can keep a secret," Fury finally said grumpily, "The Army would lose their damn minds if they found out we were opening up a decorated war hero's casket for this. But we need to know who this is, now more than ever." He tapped the autopsy photo for further emphasis.

Carefully Bruce didn't look at it. He couldn't. But he could understand why finding out more about this man was important. "Fine. When can I get access to the body?" he asked with distaste.

Satisfied, Fury got up and waved for the scientist to follow. "Right now," he said.

This certainly wasn't what Bruce expected from today, he thought as he paced down the hall. In the elevator he jumped; a voice had declared that, "Doctor Banner is not cleared for Project Mayor."

Nonplussed, Fury said, "Override, Fury, Nicholas J." He leaned on the back of the elevator, for all appearances at ease.

"Project Mayor?" Bruce asked. He shuffled to the side of the car out of habit.

"Starosta is Czech for 'mayor'. It sounded random enough," Fury explained with a hint of humor.

Nothing more was said, and the elevator made no further stops. The lack of bland music was somehow dissonant. When the doors finally opened, Bruce couldn't wait to get out.

The basement they landed in was just like any other, but creepier. There was no flickering from the eye watering brightness of the fluorescent lights, no water dripping. Not even a hint of damp teased Bruce's sensitive nose, which struck him as unnatural. The complete unremarkability was doing a number on him.

"So what's the official story about why you have his body?" Bruce asked when he realized that it was a legitimate concern. If anyone found out, he needed to know what to say.

"We volunteered some of our empty storage to contain the bodies," Fury answered as he slid his key card through an electronic lock, "Keep them from spreading disease and all that. They're supposed to be reburied next week." He snorted, not believing a word. The backlog of what needed to be done in New York was already tremendous.

One coffin was separated from the rest, laid out on a table under a light fixture. The metal was deeply dented on the top, probably with the weight of the soil, and the corners were corroded with rust. Even at this distance the stench of the rotting corpse within could be smelled.

At a nearby table Bruce donned PPE, plus an apron and hair cap for good measure. Considering that this corpse was nearly seventy years dead, any bit of his DNA could damage the samples.

"I need help to get the lid off in one piece," Bruce warned. He could get it open, but that would be like ripping a can of tuna open with a butcher knife.

Wordlessly Fury pulled on gloves and positioned himself at the foot of the coffin. "On three," he said.

They counted down together and at the same time tugged on the lid. It came off with a screech of the metal and a clang as it hit the table.

The minute his job was done, Fury slunk away to stand near the wall. The shadows certainly made his sinister glaring more effective, though bright purple latex gloves evened it out a little.

"Oh god," Bruce groaned and automatically put his nose in his elbow.

Fury had the right idea when he stayed well out of the way. The smell made Bruce's nose drip in his mask with the intensity and unpleasantness.

The sight wasn't much better, bones with bits of rotting flesh clinging stubbornly on. A shock of short brown hair stuck out from the top of the head and the mouth gaped in a mockery of a smile. On the body, the uniform Starosta had been buried in was in tatters. Even the fabric lining of the coffin was stained and shredded with age and terrible conditions.

A gleam of metal caught Bruce's eye and the second he didn't feel ready to pass out from the fumes, he leaned in slightly to see what it was. "Was Starosta married?" he asked, surprised.

"The files didn't say," Fury replied, "What are you seeing?"

It took some delicate work (and ignoring his skin crawling) to get the jacket, then shirt unbuttoned. A gaping hole in the chest greeted Bruce, large and deep enough to see the spine. Usually the lungs and other organs in the chest were a good place to get DNA from corpses, as they were protected from most damage by the ribs. That obviously wasn't going to be the case here.

"I can try the hip, but otherwise I think the left ring finger is my best shot at getting samples," Bruce reported, "He's wearing a ring and that might have protected the bone on that finger." Even through the mask he could taste the rot. There was no way he was eating again today.

"Get whatever you need so we can close this guy up," Fury ordered, exasperated, from several feet away.

Undressing a corpse was one of the most awkward things Bruce had ever done. He wondered how morticians were able to have sex even as he unzipped the pants and pulled them slightly down. Luckily all he needed was the hip.

That was accomplished relatively quickly and out of a sense of misplaced decency, Bruce fixed up the corpse's pants before he moved to the hand. With a prayer for forgiveness, he cut the ring finger straight off and shoved it into a bag. If possible he'd put the ring back before they reburied Starosta.

The coffin couldn't be closed up fast enough for Bruce's tastes. Even then the smell stayed, and he knew he'd need a shower before he decided to head back to the Tower. At the very least Steve and Thor would be able to smell this on him from a mile away.

"I'll show you to the lab you can use for this, and then the locker room," Fury said dryly. When he sniffed himself, his brow furrowed.

"We both smell like old dead guy," Bruce observed as he tossed everything but his gloves in the trash bin by the door. As long as he was holding the sample bags, he needed those.

Luckily Fury had his hands free to operate the elevator. He took them to the sixth floor where they dropped the bags, and then the main one where decontamination and the showers were. Not for the first time Bruce wondered how there was always spare clothing in his size, when he stepped out smelling like berries and Axe. (Someone had left their products behind, and he couldn't help a slightly hysterical giggle when he realized the shampoo was named Hydra-licious.)

Once in the hallway, Bruce had a new question. He didn't dare ask how many copies of the same outfit Fury had in his locker, including coat and eye patch. What he did ask was for a ride back up to the sixth floor.

Instead, a key card got slapped into his hand. It had no picture or other personal information on it, unlike Fury's, instead reading out 'Guest' with a bar code. "Don't you dare lose that," Fury threatened.

"I won't," Bruce said, looking over the card with interest.

Making his coat flare like that when he turned around probably took an enormous amount of practice, Bruce thought as he absently watched the Director walk away. Alone in the hall again, he went back to where he remembered the elevator as being.

Once more in the lab, he got the machinery up and running. Between that and preparing the samples for testing, Bruce sighed. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

When Steve stepped into Peggy's room, he smiled. "Hey, Peg," he said, shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets.

The woman in the bed went whiter than she already was, almost the same shade as her hair. "I must have fallen asleep again," she whispered, and it was Peggy's voice despite being husky with old age.

"You're awake, I promise," Steve said, and tried to keep his heart from breaking. While they had never been romantically involved, he had always admired Peggy as a soldier first and a woman second. He had always thought she would end like so many in that time, on the battlefield. But she hadn't, and now the battlefield was in her own mind.

"That's what you always say," Peggy sighed. The tears in her eyes were alien.

"If I always tell you you're awake, this time I'll prove it," Steve said. The steps forward he took were slow and cautious, to not startle her. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and when he was within arm's reach, offered one.

At first Peggy looked distrustfully between his hand and his face. Hope soon won out, however, and she reached out. Her hand, soft and thin and spotted with age, ghosted over his before she took the chance and gripped it firmly.

"See? You're awake," Steve said. He blinked back his own tears.

The most alarming thing happened then: Peggy began to cry. "I waited so long," she sobbed into her free hand, "So long, Steve. What happened? Why didn't you come back before?" Her brown eyes were lucid and watery as she looked at him, commanding as ever.

Steve took a seat at the bedside, resting his hand (which was still being held captive) on the bed by her hip. "I didn't wake up until this time last year. Since then it's been… kind of wild. Power armor in Malibu, aliens in New York," he summarized, half joking.

"Tony told you I was here, didn't he?" Peggy asked, calming down. She still sniffled once or twice, but regained her admirable control quickly.

Steve reached over to the bedside table and offered a couple of tissues so he could hide his face for a few seconds.

Even now, Peggy knew him too well. "They really are the same, aren't they?" she asked, accepting the tissues. She dabbed under her eyes before tossing them in the trash bin by the nightstand.

It was impossible to deny. "The Tony we knew is a future version of this one," Steve admitted in little more than a whisper.

There was a fond smile as Peggy shook her head. "That was how I knew something was wrong in here," she shared, tapping her temple with two fingers, "When I started remembering a man who didn't exist, I went in right away to get checked. Who knew what HYDRA or Leviathan had been able to do to me before my retirement? It… didn't turn out as I expected." She grimaced at a bland watercolor positioned in front of the bed.

"Is it wrong that I'm grateful you remember?" Steve asked. His breath caught as he considered his reason for asking.

"If you or I were anyone else, I would say so," Peggy answered.

Gratefully, Steve gave the thin hand a squeeze. It was startling how careful he had to be now, how much more delicate Peggy was. Before he had to control his strength, just like with everyone else except somehow Tony and Bucky, but there was some leeway. Now her bones crunched at what felt like the touch of a feather.

"Tell me what happened after I went down," Steve requested. He needed to hear her voice wash over him again, lulling him as close to contentment as his roiling heart could get. Back then it was one of the few things that helped him.

Though she knew exactly what he was doing, Peggy let him get away with it. Instead she told him about her fight against what remained of HYDRA, then a shadowy organization called Leviathan. There were tears in her eyes when she recounted the school she had come across in Europe where girls were trained to kill each other ruthlessly and handcuffed to their beds at night- and Steve lost his breath when he realized that was probably where Natasha was trained.

Happier memories followed. Marrying Daniel Souza, the crippled agent who had always regarded her as an agent and a lady, having three children with him, and experiencing all the joys of being a family. Watching Howard finally settle down, and then the strange feeling she couldn't put aside when he fought over Tony's name so hard he had to stay at her place for weeks. Seeing her children grow up and have their own children, and watching Tony sprout into a genius that could only have come from his father.

That certainly explained why Tony laughed when he heard about Howard's secretary throwing herself at him the one time, Steve thought. She and Howard had eventually married; she was Tony's mother.

"Sometimes I think he married her just because it would be kissing you by extension," Peggy joked.

"When you kiss someone you kiss everyone they've kissed?" Steve guessed. He wondered how many lips he'd kissed by extension, between that one time he and Bucky had experimentally locked lips as teenagers and Tony's less than chaste past.

Chuckling in agreement, Peggy continued to tell him about helping Howard found SHIELD and their agreement that it be named in Steve's own honor. It was seriously touching.

"No wonder the name makes no sense," Steve teased.

In mock outrage, Peggy smacked him on the back of his hand.

His playful attitude dropped when Peggy told him about Howard and Maria's death in a car crash in 1987. "He wouldn't say so, of course he wouldn't, but Tony was devastated. Any chance he had of gaining his father's approval was gone," she said, distant sadness in her voice as she recalled the events.

Yet again, Steve wondered what happened to his old friend. From the sound of it Peggy didn't know either. If anything, her words made the transformation from doting father to cold patriarch more puzzling. "I knew that they didn't have the best relationship, but it does explain Tony's attitude when they were in the lab together," he admitted. Yet another piece was put in the puzzle.

"It must be so lonely, knowing the truth but unable to tell. Unless you have?" Peggy's gaze sharpened and suddenly the face he remembered was glaring straight at him, overlaying her current one.

Steve had to squeeze his eyes closed to rid himself of the image. "No, it seemed too dangerous. As much as I can I've remembered what Tony said back then and kept to it," he said. He had wished for so long that he had another option…

The smile Peggy gave him was sympathetic. "If anyone can figure out what the right thing is and do it, you can," she assured him. Quiet strength that never waned shone out at him.

"Thanks, Peggy," Steve said, and meant it in more ways than he could say.

He had his answer now.

* * *

Long didn't even begin to cover Bruce's day, actually. By the time he got out of that lab he was all the hip bone samples shorter, without a full DNA profile, and it was dark. Content to let the equipment analyze the finger overnight, he took the ring back to the Tower with him.

It took a remarkable amount of guts to ask to be let into Tony's lab. After seeing the corpse of a man who looked so much like his friend, and taking his jewelry, it felt weird to anticipate seeing almost that exact same face smiling at him. "Long time no see, Mean Bean," the inventor greeted him cheerfully from a work bench.

"I got wrapped up in some stuff," Bruce said vaguely. It was true enough. Reconstructing DNA from fragments was laborious, time consuming work that required attention to every detail.

"No need to say more, science bro," Tony declared with a flippant motion of his hand.

"If it's alright, I need to ask you a few things about metals," Bruce said, nerves crowding his stomach when he got to what he came here for. He fingered the ring in his pocket, making sure it was still there.

The inquiring noise Tony made as he flipped to another screen was a confirmation.

Bruce dug out the ring and offered it up. "I need to know what this is made of," he requested.

"Sure thing," Tony said, and gave the scientist a questioning look when he realized it was a ring. "Is there anything I should know about it?" He obviously meant to ask if there was a proposal in the making.

It took more than a little effort to keep from laughing. "No, nothing like that," he said, but did not offer up any more information.

"Too light to be silver, steel, white gold, or platinum…" Tony pressed the ring between his fingers and nodded to himself when there was no give. "Too strong to be aluminum…" He looked closely at the metal with his naked eye before putting on a pair of glasses, and then slipping it under a microscope.

As he hadn't been in the lab at Stark Tower before, Bruce took the opportunity to look around. It was certainly a technophile's dream come true, advanced in every way. Even the concrete walls and floor were interesting, clearly reinforced and possibly blast proof. Maybe he could stick around to use it like Tony had offered on the helicarrier... Now there was a thought.

Only fifteen minutes later, the ring was declared to be a titanium alloy. "Where'd you find this?" Tony asked, impressed, as he played with it, "Clearly handmade, not a common thing anymore where rings are concerned, but titanium only became popular in the 90's. So either you've found an artisan I'd love to get in touch with, or this thing is anachronistic." He tried the ring on each of his fingers absently.

"I don't really know what's going on. It's why I came to you." Bruce shrugged. The mystery behind Starosta was only deepening, with the ring analysis. How did a man buried in 1945 have this ring?

Tony let out a giggle when the ring slid onto his left ring finger. "Do you really need this back?" he asked.

The sight paralyzed Bruce. Ring sizes are widely variable between people, even of the same age, gender, and size. What were the chances that two people who look almost exactly alike would wear the same ring size?

"Brucie-bear? Everything okay in there?" Tony called.

The spell was broken. Less than amused, and more than confused, Bruce held out a hand to take the ring back. "Sorry, it's not mine," he said apologetically.

Reluctantly, Tony slid it off his finger with only the resistance that a well fitted ring gives. "Seriously, get me the name of whoever made this thing," he said, eyeing the jewelry with curiosity, "They're good with metal. It would be nice to trade notes."

Carefully Bruce tucked the ring back into his pocket. "If I find out," he promised. It was more likely than not that the original maker was dead by now.

Just who was Anthony Starosta?

As he watched Tony zoom around the lab with circles darkening under his eyes and mouth moving at a mile a minute, an idea took root in Bruce's head. Maybe Howard hadn't been an only child after all.

Only that DNA analysis would be able to confirm or deny the idea.

* * *

Two days after the initial offer found Steve walking up the corridor to Loki's cell again. This time he was certain, his mind set.

The alien certainly saw that. As he walked up to the clear partition, Loki analyzed everything with startling green eyes. "You've reached a decision," he stated.

"Yes I have," Steve confirmed. He stopped directly in front of where the alien stood, looking him dead in the eye.

"You'll take my offer?" Loki asked, his smile that of the cat that caught the canary.

"No," Steve answered.

The answer visibly startled Loki. "Might I ask why?" he questioned, head tilted to the side.

"He wouldn't want it," Steve said, relaying the truth that he had realized when visiting Peggy, "He wouldn't want me to chance destroying time itself for him. He'd want me to do the right thing instead of what I want to do. Even if that meant leaving him to die." He smiled at the alien.

Something in Loki's eyes was strange. "I see," he said, though he clearly didn't.

"Thanks for the offer, but no thanks," Steve finished, and turned to walk away.

There was no answer from the cell.

As he entered the corridor, it felt like a weight had lifted off Steve's shoulders. No matter how it made his chest ache, he had done the right thing. He was able to walk down the hall with his head held high.

Not even fumbling with his ringing phone on his way to the parking garage could disturb that. It was an unknown number but Steve picked up anyways. Serenely he answered, "Rogers speaking."

To his surprise, it was Bruce. "I have a few questions that only you know the answers to. When you can, I'm at SHIELD, lab four on floor six." He paused for a moment, as if deciding whether to say what was on his mind. "It's about Starosta."

Immediately Steve turned around and headed back to the elevators.


	10. Erised

Thank you all so much for your patience this last month! I ended up in a bit of a rut and barely squeaked in over my wordcount goal by using about seven different projects, so I didn't really get much done... But that's okay. I've still got a few chapters stored up on this and should be able to keep up for a while.

And then there are the reviewers, who are all amazing and wonderful: **Stelra Etnae** , **Terri'smind** , **Artful Artifice** , **Zenoneel-Sarior** , **DoublePaws** , **Nightlessd** , **Kae Richa** , **Pickles** , and two **Guest** reviewers! Holy cow! The response you've given me is fantastic!

 **Pickles** : I adore your commentary. Seriously. And thank you for the extra encouragement. Any chance you could get an account on here so I could actually message the answers to your questions instead of putting them at the tops of the chapters?

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Erised**

" _Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple."_

― _Dr. Seuss_

When Steve got up to the sixth floor, his hands were sweaty. It took several deep breaths to calm down and remember that he could control this. By the time he knocked on the door of the lab Bruce had mentioned, there were no signs that he was anything but confused.

Having to act like he wasn't lovesick for his best friend every minute of the day was really helping him for once, Steve thought as he heard a call to come in. He was learning very fast how to regulate every system in his body. That included not exhibiting any of the physical signs of fear that currently roiled in his gut.

The lab was a tidy spot, with only two files open on a table and one computer running. In the middle of it Bruce stood, messing with a tablet. "That was fast," he commented.

"I was already here," Steve answered the unspoken question.

It was accepted with a nod. Bruce laid the tablet down on a side table and clicked a few keys on the computer. "We may as well get to business," he said, forehead wrinkling as he adjusted the view on the screen.

What Steve saw nearly took his breath away. He had learned enough over the last year to recognize a strand of DNA, but the picture was what caught his attention. It was Tony, except as he had last seen the man in 1945: dead and about to be buried. "Where did you get that picture?" he asked.

"The battle a few days ago disinterred several graveyards," Bruce said in a non-answer, turning around to lean on the table. His eyes were piercing behind his glasses, and a little green.

To try to alleviate the threat that the scientist must have felt, Steve slid onto the nearest stool. It was easier to give someone else a sense of control when he didn't tower over them.

That didn't appear to help much. "Your parents' graves were wrecked, as were yours," Bruce smiled weakly, "Sergeant Barnes's, and this man's. Anthony Starosta." He pointed at the photo.

"That's his DNA?" Steve asked. He couldn't decide if he was terrified or hopeful. Either way he focused on keeping his breathing even, pulse normal, and skin from going clammy.

"Yes," Bruce confirmed, before explaining, "Probably due to the way he died, he had a huge hole in his sternum that kept DNA from being gathered from there. So I drilled into the hip bone. And then I saw this." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring.

When it was dropped into Steve's palm, he knew the game was up. Despite that he knew his face showed nothing, it was obvious Bruce had figured it out. He let the facade drop with a sigh, and cradled the titanium band like the precious treasure he thought of it as.

On the other side of the table, Bruce's eyes softened. "It kept one of the bones from degrading too much and I was able to get a full DNA profile from that," he said, watching the super soldier with what looked like pity.

"So you know," Steve stated, unable to tear his eyes from the band. It looked almost exactly like when he had slid it onto Tony's finger in his casket. Only a little tarnish on the inside showed just how long it had been in the ground.

"It took a couple of days. The sequence itself didn't match anyone, even as being related," Bruce said nonsensically.

"What?" Steve asked, suddenly wondering what was really going on. Had he been had?

The scientist brought up five more DNA profiles, each with a picture beside it. There was Bruce, the Hulk, the current Tony, Steve, and… his smaller self. He'd almost forgotten the last minute blood test they did before his turn in the machine. They must have gotten the DNA from that.

Bruce immediately began to explain, "I knew there was something familiar but I didn't realize what happened until I woke up at two this morning and everything just came together. I compared Starosta's DNA to mine and realized that it had some of the same post-experiment markers. So I took those out. There were still some left that didn't seem right, so…" Here he seemed slightly sheepish. "I looked at your DNA for a comparison, and it turns out that he shared more markers with you post-serum than with me." He paused and fiddled with a pen, looking from the DNA to Steve and back.

It all suddenly came together for Steve. His face tingled as all the blood left it, horror settling in his veins. "Zola," he whispered.

All the memories of when Tony and Bucky were capable of keeping up but shouldn't have, Tony taking on the Winter Soldier, Tony getting younger as time wore on… They suddenly felt tainted. At the time Steve had been grateful and unwilling to ask, but now he wished for anything else.

"Pardon?" Bruce questioned, frowning.

"Don't worry about it. Please continue," Steve said, gesturing at the screens.

Bruce's rush to get to the end was obvious. "When I took out the markers of the DNA that were only present in our post-experiment selves, I ran the tests again and it gave me a 98.6% positive match to Tony. I don't know any way to get a result like that without it being that person, so… It makes no sense, but Captain Anthony Starosta was Tony Stark." Even as the words left his mouth, Bruce looked befuddled.

"Captain Starosta?" Steve parroted. In the forties, Tony had always been called Lieutenant the few times someone had used his rank.

"You wouldn't believe the promotions you all got," Bruce explained with a tight smile, "Everyone agreed that Captain America sounded better than Brigadier General America, or they probably would have made it more obvious. By the time Starosta died- when Tony died, he had made it up to Captain. But that's not so important." He stood beside the screen that proved everything, silently demanding answers.

Even as shock and disgust warred through him, Steve smiled. "When I first met Tony, he was forty five," he started, but stalled soon after. There were always more questions than answers, and what he had figured out since being defrosted only made those elusive answers more sinister than ever.

"That's another two years," Bruce said, and his eyes widened as he realized what that meant. "So if we dig too deeply into the past, we'll know too much about the future," he hypothesized.

Steve nodded, and relief was added into the already crazy mix of what he felt. It thrummed through his veins and made him feel about ready to explode with just how much that was. "Maybe not about the future in general, but about Tony's future," he agreed.

The smile Bruce gave him was sad. "You can't say a thing to him and it's killing you," he concluded.

"Thank God you figured it out," Steve sighed, "I remembered Tony saying that before he went to Brooklyn he lived with two assassins, a super soldier, a guy from fairy land, and a man with breathtaking anger management issues, and the whole time we were on the helicarrier I was going crazy trying to figure out who the second assassin was. Knowing this much… I know less than ever." It was the understatement of the year.

"Let's start at the beginning," Bruce suggested sensibly.

When Steve laughed, it was strained. He buried his face in his hands and the cold metal of the ring in his palm only slightly soothed him. "That's where half my questions come from," he mumbled.

"I get the feeling I'll want to sit down for this," Bruce said, and took a seat across the table.

"When I first saw Tony, he had tumbled out of a portal in the middle of a fight. From what I understand he was angry because the man he was fighting had nearly killed someone he called Cap," he said, and just there had more questions.

"So, it looks like in 2015 you'll finally lose a fight. And Tony will go kamikaze," Bruce said, nodding like it all made sense.

The story went on and on, through Steve getting sick and their date. When he got to Tony subtly encouraging him to try enlisting for a sixth time, he let out a watery laugh. Of course the genius would say that if anyone could make it, it would be Steve. It had already happened for him.

Getting together was glossed over, but Tony's entry into Project Rebirth as a scientist wasn't. It led Bruce to frowning, but he said nothing. There were gasps and chuckles in all the right places, until Azzano.

"Anthony Stark, SHIELD, Avengers Initiative," Steve repeated, the moment seared into his mind. "He didn't even realize I was there until I shook him. But when we had to escape, he was steadier than ever. Ran across a creaking support beam like it was flat ground." He shook his head, wondering how he didn't see it sooner.

The noise Bruce made was comprehending. "They were trying to recreate the serum and used Tony and Bucky as test subjects," he said, horror dawning in his eyes.

The mere idea of his man and his best friend having to go through the same kind of pain as Steve suffered in Project Rebirth… It nearly made him sick. At least he had gone into it willingly, fully aware of the risks and what might happen. They hadn't had that choice. "And it looks like it succeeded, at least partially," he commented with a jerk of his head toward the DNA results.

Though Bruce looked like he wanted to go on an excited tangent, he gestured for Steve to keep going.

"That was when I first heard about the man called the Winter Soldier," the blonde said.

Bruce froze up. It was obvious that he knew the name.

"Tony said he was a ghost story and only two people had come out of a fight with him alive. He told us about, well, now I know it was Natasha, and how she nearly died and was terrified of the Soldier," Steve said, tapping the same area Tony had during his explanation, right near the liver, "He shot the engineer she was covering, straight through her. Then I found out that the Soldier was going after Bucky in an effort to get killed. He tried that night, but Tony drove him off." He shook his head, still wondering at it.

"Wait, wait, wait," Bruce cut in, obviously confused, "Do you think that the guy Tony was fighting when he went through that portal was the Winter Soldier?" He looked horrified and frightened at the mere thought.

"If you give me a few more minutes, I'll get to the end and then we can talk about that," Steve said, not sure if he wanted to hear what was coming. Half of it, he had already figured out. Someone else thinking the same thing would only be confirmation that he wasn't crazy.

For every word that Steve spoke, the burden on his shoulders kept getting lighter. While he kept their relationship and Iron Man's identity close to his chest, he said everything else that he knew. How Tony and Bucky were always there, able to keep up and never leaving him behind unless they had to, how they had perpetrated the raid that got Tony called the Ballsiest Idiot in the Force and then was captured on a courier mission in Germany. When he got to the hallucinogenic mushroom incident, they both laughed almost hysterically. Knowing what he did now, Steve was torn between berating Tony for depending on the timeline staying the same and pulling him close because _he knew_. The whole time, Tony had known what would happen to him. _And he kept going._

Then Romania came up, and every word felt like it clawed its way up Steve's throat. Now that he knew what happened initially, he had a better idea of what was done to the two people most important to him in that lab. "The scientist told Tony to sing and he started singing Star Spangled Man With a Plan," he said, chuckles coming up that were more like sobs, "Then when they told him to sing something else, he started on something about men in tights roaming around the forest looking for fights. And the can-can." He had to pause when Bruce burst into giggles.

"Sorry," the scientist said, eyes crinkled in ashamed laughter, "It's just that… he was out of his mind and still sticking it to them. Mel Brooks, the guy that wrote that song, was Jewish and fought in the war. Typical Tony." He shook his head fondly.

That, Steve could agree on. He finished his story not long after, keeping only the technical aspects of how Tony died to himself. All he said was that it was assisted suicide, and Bucky had helped. "You know the story after that," he said tiredly, "I buried him next to my mom and kept going. Bucky fell, I crashed." He had never thought that he would want to go to bed right after telling someone. It was like he had relieved it all.

"In summary, Tony got into a fight with the _Winter Soldier_ of all people and was sent back in time, was used as a guinea pig by HYDRA, became a Howling Commando, and committed assisted suicide at the end of 1944," Bruce said. He looked like he didn't know what to make of it.

"Yes," Steve agreed.

Bruce scrubbed a hand over his face. "No offense, but your life is insane," he said conversationally.

This time Steve let out a bark of strained laughter. That was putting it mildly. "You wanted to know some things about the Winter Soldier?" he asked.

"Yes, uh, I did but…" Bruce rubbed his head sheepishly.

"You forgot?" Steve asked, half grateful. Today was already hard enough.

The look in Bruce's brown eyes showed that he understood. Hesitantly he reached over and gave Steve's shoulder a squeeze. "I guess the only thing that matters is what happens now," he said quietly.

"No one can know," Steve said immediately, tiredly.

"I won't tell," Bruce promised. As of his own words were a kick in the pants for him, he went to work with fervor. On the computer he clicked several things and a little box popped up, asking if he was sure he wanted this data permanently deleted. It was more than a little bit of a relief when the 'yes' option was chosen without indecision.

"What are you doing?" Steve questioned, propping his head up on a fist.

"If no one can know, that means there can't be any record of it," Bruce explained as he deleted several more things, "This is a private server. When I asked Tony to check it out the other day, he said it has to be manually backed up, no option of automatic. It's probably used for research that might never be allowed to see the light of day. I'm going to make sure it doesn't." He grimaced as he clicked a confirmation that he wanted to delete everything on the hard drive.

"How? I heard Tony say that nothing is ever really deleted," Steve asked, curious. Living with Tony had showed him a lot about technology but he was still learning.

The smile Bruce gave him was grim. "There was a mysterious accident and the hard drive got smashed beyond any hope of repair," he answered with false innocence. It was belied by the force with which he pulled the computer casing apart.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Steve asked. Having an ally in keeping Tony safe only strengthened his resolve.

The computer was already half dismantled but Bruce immediately stopped. Instead he went over to a machine and emptied out a few small bowls of powder into a little baggy. He presented it to Steve on one palm, with all the seriousness of a funeral flag. "This is what I got the DNA from, the third phalange of his left ring finger. All the other material was contaminated. Without this there's no possibility of rediscovering what I found," he said, "I think you know what to do with it."

Not another word was needed. Steve's hand shook as he accepted the little baggy, clutching it in the same hand as the ring.

When he tried giving that back, Bruce shook his head. "I think it was supposed to be with you," he said with a weak little smile.

"The jeweler did say that all his titanium rings had sad endings," Steve murmured, half to himself.

Thankfully Bruce didn't comment. Instead he went back to messing up the computer.

Determined to do things right this time, Steve tucked the ring and bag of bone powder into his pocket. He got up, trying to figure out where to put them so that it wasn't obvious, when he realized he still had something to say. "Bruce?" he called, one hand on the door knob.

The scientist looked up from where he was bending some sort of green and gold board.

"Thank you for helping me protect him," Steve said, more grateful than he could express.

"As long as that stays your priority I'll keep helping," Bruce replied, an undeniable warning in his voice. He wouldn't put up with any harm coming to Tony.

At least on that, they could agree. Steve left not long after, trying to decide what to do with Tony's bones. It had to be something respectful, significant to them, but nothing that would draw attention.

Late that night, Tony crawled into his bed shivering again. Pretending to be asleep, Steve rolled over and pulled the other man against his chest, murmured nonsense into his hair. As the trembling settled down and Tony clutched his shirt tightly, he smiled.

He'd found the perfect place.

* * *

Sunrise found Steve standing on the Brooklyn Bridge. He rued that safety nets kept him from seeing the view unimpeded, but the light still reached him. It was good enough.

This was the end of a tour of their old stomping grounds, starting at the alley where he first saw Tony fighting his way out of a portal and ending at the train station where they had left for Camp Leigh. It dizzied his senses to see how much everything had changed in eighty years. Their old apartments were replaced with fancy townhouses and the old SSR base with an actual antiques shop.

But this was almost the same. The Lady of Brooklyn was still here, and was a representation of everything that had happened. She was the symbol of Brooklyn, where everything had started and ended alike.

For a moment, Steve closed his eyes and basked in it. The scent of the sea and crash of the waves reached him even over the unceasing traffic. It was perfect.

All too soon, it was time. Steve took the plastic bag from his pocket and emptied the bone powder onto his cupped palm. This was the last he had of the Tony he had first known, and first loved.

Well, not quite, he thought when he remembered the ring. That, he would have for as long as he lived.

This was different. It was biologically Tony, the only bit left that was purely him. And it was too dangerous to keep him.

It was time to say goodbye.

"We've had a good time of it, haven't we? You on the docks and me in the living room, and then out in France and the rest of Europe," Steve said, ostensibly to the ashes, "You were my everything and always will be. You're alive now, and I love you as you are. You're beautiful and brilliant and everything I ever wanted. When I lose you again it'll kill me for sure this time. But that's in the future. I'll always fight for you, as Steve Rogers and Captain America alike, but for now the best way to keep you safe is to say goodbye." He took a deep but shaky breath.

Someone walked up beside him and when he glanced over, it was Tony. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, but there was a peace in his face right now that wasn't often seen anymore. He looked from the powder to Steve and back again.

"Tony?" the blonde asked, wondering what drew him out here at this time of morning.

"You weren't there," Tony replied uncomfortably. He quickly changed the subject. "What's that?" he asked, nodding toward Steve's hand.

Wistfully he looked from the genius to his future and back again. "I'm saying goodbye to someone I love," he answered truthfully.

Tony blinked at the bone powder. "Are those ashes?" he questioned doubtfully.

"Close enough," Steve said, cracking a grin.

"Not sure that's legal, but I won't tell if you won't," Tony answered diplomatically.

"Do you… want to help me?" Steve asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure if it violated some code of conduct about ash spreading, but it felt like the right question to ask.

Though he didn't look quite convinced, Tony sidled closer. "What am I doing here?" he asked.

"On zero, blow on them," Steve said. The body heat of the man next to him gave him the courage to count down, "Three, two, one." On the beat right after one, they both took a breath and then blew on the pile of bone.

In a cloud it rose up and on a gust of wind dissipated. The mundanity of it was a relief. He had expected some dramatic display like the wind suddenly changing directions. It would have been very Tony to laugh hysterically in the afterlife as his ashes and bone fragments were blown into his boyfriend and past self's sinuses.

Task done, Tony clapped a hand to his shoulder. "I left the car over at the park. Meet me there when you're done and we can get some breakfast," he said. His dark eyes were sympathetic.

Steve nodded and waited a few minutes for Tony to be out of earshot. The moment he was alone, he whispered to the ghost of future past, "I love you."

Somewhere in his head, he could hear Tony's whisper on a crowded underground train. " _You too."_

Smiling, Steve jogged to catch up to his future.

* * *

The day after their chat and the subsequent dismantling of the computer, Steve expected to get called into Fury's office. Seeing Bruce there only made it more obvious what this meeting was about. "You called?" he asked.

"Not long after Doctor Banner and you had your little chat yesterday, one of our technicians found the lab computer in pieces, a jamming signal in the microphones, and the samples gone. And you," Fury pointed at Steve, "had something to do with this."

As it was an accusation rather than a question, Steve didn't answer. He simply frowned and crossed his arms.

"Don't play innocent with me, Rogers," Fury warned, glaring up at him from behind the desk.

"I'm not playing anything," Steve responded coolly. He really wasn't. If anything, he was dead serious about fooling Fury.

Fury obviously didn't believe him. "Last chance, Rogers, before I get an opportunity to test our nifty little lie detector on you," he offered, like it was a favor.

"Director Fury, I really have to protest. He told me about Captain Starosta and followed my instructions, nothing more," Bruce said. It was a good hint about what story to go with.

The look Fury gave the scientist, then the soldier, was suspicious. "Forgive me if I don't trust either of you too much on this," he said acerbically, and gestured for them to follow him from the room.

Steve didn't dare try to communicate with Bruce the whole way to the interrogation block. It was too risky under Fury's nose.

Instead he sighed as he was bowed into one of the rooms. This one was plain concrete with a table, three chairs, and a mirror that was obviously double sided. On the table sat a machine, and on one of the chairs sat a mousy technician. The second was occupied by Maria Hill.

The third chair was hard and uncomfortable, barely big enough to fit his bulky frame. It was probably designed that way, Steve thought as he adjusted in it.

"Captain Rogers, have you ever taken a lie detector test before?" Agent Hill asked as the technician busied herself with the cords.

"No, ma'am," Steve said truthfully. At the same time, he began to focus on controlling his body and everything about it- inward and outward.

Agent Hill looked like she expected as much. "It tests various factors including pulse, heartbeat, breathing, sweat response, and skin temperature, in order to detect the truthfulness or falsity of your answers to questions I will ask. The questions will have yes or no answers. Any questions?" she asked, analyzing everything about him as was her way.

"No, ma'am," Steve responded, and lifted his arms for the technician to fasten a stretchy belt around his rib cage. A few straps were hooked around his bicep, wrist, and finger, before the technician sat down again.

A few papers were glanced through before Hill began. "I am going to calibrate the machine by asking you a few simple questions," she said, "Is your name Steven Grant Rogers?"

"Yes," Steve answered automatically.

"Are you also known as Captain America?"

"Yes."

"Were you born on July fourth?" Agent Hill asked.

"Yes."

When Agent Hill looked to the technician, she got a frown. "I think the machine is acting up, it says his body temperature is 67.85 degrees," the woman said.

Even Steve got a surprise out of that. He knew he ran cold now, but not that cold. People generally died long before they got down to that temperature.

"That's normal for him," Agent Hill reassured the woman.

The technician gave her a dubious look but said nothing more.

Agent Hill gave the questions she was to ask another glance before setting them on the table face down. "Calibration is complete. I'll start with the serious questions now," she told him before asking, "Did you and Doctor Banner discuss Captain Starosta in the lab yesterday?"

"Yes," Steve replied.

When Hill looked to the technician, she received a nod; it was accepted as the truth. "Was the information you discussed abnormally sensitive?" she continued.

"Yes," Steve said.

"Was Captain Starosta's identity verified successfully that you know of?"

"No." Steve lied for the first time.

When Hill looked to the technician, she received a nod. It was accepted as the truth.

Enhanced hearing caught the barest hint of a gasp from the other side of the mirror.

The interrogation went on for nearly an hour, grilling him on everything that could be answered with a simple yes or no. It was all done with a bland, expectant voice from Hill, not a single sign of surprise or anything else of note.

As Steve alternately told half truths, whole truths, and non-truths, he hoped he was giving answers that would complement what Bruce already said. He had decided that the best way to go about this was to imply the serum. Considering what had happened to Bruce when he tried to remake it, they had decided that it was better for the formula to be lost forever, and Steve disposed of the samples while Bruce took care of the machinery. The microphones being jammed, he knew nothing about in truth.

It was admittedly a reason that Steve would support destroying the data, even without Tony in the equation. After what had nearly happened to Peggy over Howard's sample of his blood…

Once the questioning was over with, Steve was unhooked and allowed to leave. The look Fury gave him was grumpy. "Fine, so you were telling the truth," he conceded.

"Thank you for acknowledging that," Steve said with such politeness that it was sarcastic.

"Doesn't mean you're not in trouble, if not from me then from the council," Fury warned them both. Without waiting for a reply, he turned around and walked away.

"Do you ever get the feeling that he wasn't hugged as a child?" Brice asked casually. Where before he looked worried and horrified, he had smoothed out his expression in the past few seconds.

Steve snorted. It seemed to be a requirement to be part of their group, not counting him.

"Let's get some lunch and talk, back at the tower," Bruce suggested.

It was a good one, and not just because Steve was hungry. "Not much time for talking, but you can keep me company while I paint," he offered.

"Important?" Bruce questioned as they walked to the elevators.

"The Stark charity thing is coming up and I agreed to paint something for the auction," Steve explained, grateful that they were alone in the elevator. Lately people had been fairly low on his list of favorite things. Since the battle, actually.

"Any chance you'll tell me what you're painting?" Bruce asked, lips tilted slightly up.

The elevator dinged as they arrived on the level with the garages. Walking out, Steve grinned. "Not when you can see it for yourself," he said cheerfully, "Need a ride?"

Nervously, Bruce nodded. "I took the bus," he said, glancing around.

"I've got a spare helmet," Steve told him, and led the way to his bike.

Surprisingly, Bruce was a very good passenger. None of this sitting straight up stuff. If anything he was more comfortable on one than any other time Steve had seen him, hands not even gripping Steve but resting on his own thighs as they wove through traffic.

Once in the Stark Tower garage, Steve took off his helmet and shook his hair out. "How did you learn to ride so well?" he asked conversationally as he settled both helmets on the bike. It had been a birthday gift from Tony last year, a 1940's Harley Indian rebuilt from the ground up.

The smile Bruce gave him was wry. "I spent most of my time since the accident in developing countries," he replied.

That was admittedly answer enough.

It was quiet between the two as they walked to the elevators and then rode upward. On the floor that Tony had set aside for himself and Steve, they got out and wandered over to what had been essentially turned into an art studio.

Paint, canvases, charcoals, and other supplies were strewn everywhere in organized chaos. Steve knew exactly where everything was, but everyone else who had seen the room was immediately lost. Admittedly he liked it that way. His numerous sketches of Tony were more easily hidden.

In the center of the room, an easel was covered with a white cloth. Undoubtedly Tony had peeked, but it wasn't to keep him out. Just to keep the lights from affecting the paint before he was even finished.

When he unveiled the canvas, it was with a flourish. Nerves crowded his stomach as he waited for the verdict.

Mouth hanging slightly open, Bruce's wide eyes darted this way and that. He reached out to touch, but caught himself at the last second. "Is that…?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Steve confirmed. He glanced at the canvas and smiled fondly.

"I can't believe… This is amazing. Is it the only one?" Bruce asked. He was finally able to tear his eyes from the work to look at its creator.

Steve bobbed his head from side to side. "Part of a set," he explained. He picked up his apron and shrugged it on before gathering his supplies to continue.

"Set?" Bruce parroted. He took a few steps back and found himself leaning on a table piled high with supplies. There wasn't exactly a chair around here.

That should probably be corrected soon, Steve thought as he decided where to continue the piece. "The first one was an acknowledgement of my feelings and then I couldn't resist another version. After that all this happened and it just keeps growing," he explained as he began dabbing at the canvas.

"How did you get away with lying back there?" Bruce unexpectedly asked. It seemed like he had been itching to know for some time now.

Steve smiled laconically. "One of the blessings of my current situation. Heart rate, skin temperature, sweat production, I can control all of it and more," he said, "I got in some practice when I realized I had to pretend to not be completely lovesick. It's serving me pretty well."

As Bruce agreed, he watched the smooth movements of brush against canvas. "Is it really necessary though?" he asked. The pity in his eyes was difficult to deal with.

"He'd implied that nothing happened before March, 1943 so I have to stick to that," he reported stoically, "I'm not willing to risk the best thing that's ever happened to me, Bruce." It was one reason he had turned Loki down. To impress that on the scientist, he gave him a stern look.

It seemed that Bruce got it. "I get that. And I won't tell. But Nat was able to dig up a file on your last mission with Starosta," he warned.

The idea of some of the few people he wanted to make a good impression on knowing about his loss of control was more than a little embarrassing. Despite that Steve knew it would happen again in just a couple of years. "Roger that," he answered grimly.

"I should probably go. Just watch out. We all noticed how alike he and Tony look, and she's going to dig more," Bruce finished.

Steve waited until the door closed behind his coconspirator to sigh. Keeping secrets wasn't his forte. He hated that he was unable to be honest with people he truly respected. How had Tony done it?

They only had a couple more years to go, he determined. He would rather it be a couple more decades, but he'd take what he could get. Time with Tony was his most precious commodity right now.

He kept right on painting.

* * *

The only reason Clint wasn't startled when Bruce brushed by him was because he had seen the man enter the room. It was just out of the corner of his eye, but still. He took pride in seeing close enough to everything.

The note that was left on the table stood out against the dark glass. He casually laid his arm over it. When he finished his sandwich and went to out the plate in the sink, it was gone.

In the privacy of the bathroom, the only place cameras could be generally guaranteed to not exist, Clint opened the slip of paper. He read through it and swore, then did so again just to make sure he read it right the first time.

On the other side of the door, Tony called, "Did your dick shrink into nonexistence when you weren't looking, bird brain?"

Rolling his eyes, Clint yelled back, "You wish!" He immediately turned his attention back to the note and made a mental note to tell Nat. Then he disposed of it the only way he could right now that he knew for sure it wouldn't be discovered.

As the paper got soggy in his mouth, then went down his throat, Clint reflected on the new information. It was important and implied some strange and terrifying things, considering the plans they had come up with a few days ago.

They'd have to take extra care with any scenarios that depended on poison. Or Steve telling the truth about anything. Not to mention outside the scope of those circumstances…

Clint automatically used the bathroom, deep in thought. A tactical brain was accounting for what he now knew even as he walked back into the common area and went back to his video game.

 _He can fool lie detector tests._


	11. And the Greatest of the Three Was

Yes, I know they stopped making Coke with coke in 1903, and most other things got de-coked after the 1922 laws. The imagery of Steve and Bucky not thinking anything of cocaine except in beverages or as medicine (which continues under limited circumstances in the US) was just too funny to pass up, though. So let's just pretend that those changes happened sometime between 1945 and 1950, eh?

Many thanks to the wonderful reviewers, for your feedback and patience alike: **Princess Hinata Bug** , **Stelra Etnae** , **Zenoneel-Sarior** , **PickledCucumbers** , **DoublePaws** , **Garfunkyel** , and a **Guest**! You're all amazing.

So there's a metric shit ton of stuff going on right now. I start my first paying job on Monday, my twenty one year old cousin has colon cancer and two kids, I came down with the flu, and we're in the middle of a heat wave with no AC. It all has me very busy. Your understanding about late or missing updates is and will be appreciated.

Also, pssst... Follow me on Tumblr! I have two accounts. The writing account is under the username **ichosethenovelinglife** and my main is **thraeelddim**. I look forward to seeing you on there!

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: And the Greatest of the Three Was…**

" _Everything you can imagine is real."_

― _Pablo Picasso_

The charity auction was going extraordinarily well, Tony thought smugly. It had been organized within a week of the Battle of New York and was taking place within two weeks, an organizational wonder. He'd have to give Pepper a bonus for this.

Gowns glittered, tuxedos were dark shadows between, and Tony had managed to con the other Avengers into attending. It would help raise money to repair the city, he'd cajoled and begged. Steve going was a given, and Thor had agreed immediately. The spies were a little harder to convince, but they too had said they'd make an appearance. All it took was 'repairing schools' to get Bruce onboard.

For the most part they were hanging out in the back with the Iron Man suit. Little did they realize that JARVIS was driving it right now. Even Tony wouldn't have known if he weren't the pilot.

The sculpture that had been the subject of some light bidding went to a Kennedy for $3,450. Not bad for a block of obsidian, Tony acknowledged.

The auctioneer shifted his cards and grinned out at the audience. "Our star pieces for this evening are a six piece set. They will be bid on separately, at the artist's request," he announced, to whispers of curiosity. That was an occasional event, but sets are usually sold together for a reason.

Tony grinned at the tall blonde squeezed in beside him. While he had peeked at one of the paintings, he hadn't gotten a chance to see the others.

The shy smile he got back promised good things.

"The series is called Gemini, and was painted by none other than Brigadier General Steven Rogers, better known as Captain America," the auctioneer announced. When it resulted in a near roar of interest, he grinned. At his gesture the easel was uncovered.

This painting was the one Tony had seen. Back to back, the Hulk and Bruce stood, but that was the only similarity in their poses. Where the Hulk was slightly hunched forward, fists up and mouth snarling, Bruce looked down at his feet and was fiddling with a pen. Both were familiar and exceptionally well executed.

"Bidding starts at $5,000," the auctioneer said.

There was a cacophony of voices calling out numbers. The auction had begun.

Even Tony was amazed at how high the final price was for that one piece. After five minutes of bidding, it was already at $7,500. At ten, it had reached $9,000. It went to a Rothschild for $17,250.

Steve looked like he had no idea what to think.

"Your stuff might be able to pay for a few buildings by itself!" Tony whispered gleefully into his friend's ear.

All six pieces were similar in theme and composition, but there was no accusing them of being carbon copies or uninspired. Clint's painted eyes radiated good humor both as Hawkeye with his bow and his civilian self holding a game controller, where Nat and Black Widow leaned into each other but obviously without trust from their crossed arms and eyes watching each other. Thor in regular people clothes was covered in mud and looked to be in immense pain as he stared at a grounded Mjolnir, while in his battle armor he was caught in the midst of a fierce war cry, hammer held high. Each of them went for upwards of $15,000.

Second to last was the Captain America portrait. It was what Tony had been looking forward to all evening, aside of his own. Nerves crowded in his belly at the idea of what might be depicted alongside Iron Man, but they were shoved aside for the moment.

When this particular piece was uncovered, even Tony had to inhale sharply. Captain America stood straight, tall and imposing in his skintight suit, shield at the ready to defend. At his back tiny, skinny Steve Rogers relied on bracers to keep his pants up and tightly gripped a packet of papers. In minute red writing the papers were stamped with 4F. The combined shame and pride that the composition resulted in were confusing and made something in Tony's chest ache. Was that how Steve still saw himself?

The painful smile on the super soldier's face said yes as he took in his work again.

"Bidding starts at $5,000," the auctioneer said, and chaos reigned.

This time, Tony couldn't help getting into it. Of everything he had seen so far tonight, this was what he wanted the most. He raised his fan and bid $10,000.

Beside him, Steve's head swiveled like it was being unscrewed from his shoulders. Wide eyed, he watched the bidding go ever higher. By the time Tony won (of course he did), he looked ready to pass out.

"And the item goes to Tony Stark for $20,450," the auctioneer announced, and banged his gavel.

Satisfied, Tony cracked a grin and glanced to the side. "What's got your spandex in a knot?" he questioned once he noticed the other man's expression.

"Did you really just…?" Steve didn't appear able to finish his sentence. He was blinking rapidly, eyes shiny.

"Problem, Spangles?" Tony asked, eyebrow raised.

"No, no, just… You know I'd paint another one for you," Steve said needlessly. The corners of his lips were slowly tilting up, his expression turned to a full blown smile.

"But I wanted that one," Tony protested, admittedly childishly. "And it's going for a good cause." It went without saying that he was going to buy the Iron Man one as well. Who better to own it than Iron Man himself?

Steve shook his head with a smile and a delicious blush that went the whole way down his neck, further than his collar allowed to be seen. Stupid uniform.

"Time to see what you did about Iron Man," Tony said, anticipation roiling in his gut.

"And now for our final piece, we have the last part of the Gemini series by Brigadier General Steven Rogers," the auctioneer announced, and unveiled a canvas the same size as all the others.

Maybe it was because he _was_ Iron Man, or maybe just the mysterious nature of the painting, but Tony found himself drawn to this one more than any other aside of the Captain America picture. The Iron Man armor was perfect in close to every detail, only a few things different from the Mark VII. Upgrades that he had thought of but not implemented, and the armor on the shins was a silvery metal instead of gold or hot rod red. At the armor's back a figure was in shadow from head to foot, almost a foot shorter. Everything else was slightly altered, thicker and wearing what seemed like a suit with an old style pant leg and a peaked hat. Steve had drawn him in an old fashioned military dress uniform.

"Kinky," Tony cackled gleefully into his friend's ear.

Steve gave him a look that screamed to quiet down. It only made the flushed red of his ears cuter.

The auctioneer then announced, "Bidding starts at $5,000."

Immediately it began, and the amount shot even over the Captain America painting. The entire room wanted this painting, wanted even the slightest hint of Iron Man's identity. And there was none, Tony realized even as he put up his first bid.

It was actually kind of brilliant, he thought fondly. Everyone and their mother knew that Iron Man took off from the same place as Cap lived, so who would be more likely to know than the leader of the Avengers? Tony was willing to bet that no one believed _Captain America_ of all people would lie, even through the medium of a painting.

The mere concept made his shrunken, blackened heart feel like it tripled in size. Now that was friendship.

Tony won the painting for $26,000.

The look that Steve gave him was both shocked and adoring. If Tony didn't know better, he would say that the Cap looked ready to kiss him. As it was, he was nearly tackled out of his chair with the enthusiastic hug he got from the muscular superhero.

"Whoa, easy there, big guy!" Tony laughed as he returned the gesture, unable to stop smiling.

It was a shame to separate. The smile Steve gave him when they did was shy but proud, and made him feel like he was frolicking through a field of gummy bears.

About ready to melt into a pile of goo, Tony excused himself to, "see to the transport of my new artworks. They're going on our floor." He couldn't help the wink he shot the blonde, who looked like he didn't know what to do with this.

The moment the business side of things was done (paying for the things, arranging for their delivery to the tower) Tony swanned away to the after-party. He admittedly looked forward to the open bar more than the dancing. Though if he could convince one of the other super-heroes to dance with him, it might be worth it.

He found them spread through the room in pairs. Clint and Natasha melted through the crowd like shadows, passing with barely a blink and seemingly no objective. Thor and JARVIS (via the Iron Man armor) chatted with some high ranking military personnel. Near the bar were his main objectives, Steve and Bruce, the former nursing a whiskey and the latter taking a drink of what looked like beer but was probably soda.

"I see you're availing yourselves of the good stuff," Tony said cheerfully as he slid in beside Steve. He signalled the bartender for a bourbon, and with a wink at the admittedly good looking woman took a sip.

"If you call Coke the good stuff," Bruce said dryly.

"Sugar activates the same parts of the brain as cocaine," Tony pointed out.

"They took the cocaine out?" Steve asked, puzzled as he looked at Bruce's half empty glass.

Both scientists spat their drinks out. As Steve pounded on their backs worriedly, Tony coughed out the last of his bourbon. That burned his nose like nothing else.

Through watering eyes Tony watched the bartender clean up the mess with an irritated sigh. He made a mental note to give her an extra large tip to make up for this. "It's okay, I'm fine," he wheezed.

"I take it that yes they did take the cocaine out of Coca-Cola?" Steve asked, amused, as he watched his friends recover.

"You're just trying to take years off my life now," Tony complained playfully.

For some reason Steve went white.

"Yes, they stopped making Coke with coke," Bruce answered, coming to the rescue, "In America and several other countries cocaine is only legal as a form of anesthesia in hospitals, usually during nasal surgeries." His face was a little red under his tan as he explained, but gradually fading back to usual. That wouldn't do.

"And how do you know so much about this?" Tony questioned slyly. He was just poking fun at his friend, really. He knew Brucie-bear wasn't that kind of doctor, and had never been a tweaker.

Nervously, Bruce rubbed at the back of his neck as he explained, "Well, sometimes when I was in a third world country cocaine would be the only anesthetic available when I had to do some painful treatment or another, so I had to find out if it was legal so I'd know whether I needed to hide it." He looked like he was sure he would get arrested on the spot for admitting to it.

Impressed, Tony could only finish his drink. "And here I thought you were clean-cut," he said to his friend with a grin.

It seemed that Steve was still ironing out his understanding of coke's legality, an idea that Tony struggled to wrap his head around. It was _cocaine_. "So no cocaine in cough drops?" he asked cautiously.

"Not anymore," Bruce answered gratefully.

"I bet you were pretty well hyped up when you were sick, Spangles," Tony teased. He couldn't help his laughter. The mental image of a tiny Steve sneezing and coughing even as he bounced off the walls was too much to handle.

With a chuckle, Steve shrugged. He looked to have recovered from whatever Tony's joke had done, as he replied, "We couldn't afford medicine too often." It was enough of an answer, and a sobering one.

Nope, he wasn't going down that emotional road. Not tonight. Tony emptied the rest of his glass and asked Bruce, who he knew he wouldn't feel awkward with, "Hey, wanna dance?" The song had changed to something upbeat but not too fast, a good one to start out with.

"Sure thing, Stark," Clint said out of fucking nowhere and pulled him out of his seat.

"I wasn't talking to you!" Tony protested, though he didn't really mean it. Over the past couple of weeks he and the bird brain had become buddies, often enough found swearing creatively at each other as they played Mario Kart or similar. Dancing with him would be fun enough.

The archer wasn't bad at it, Tony saw with some surprise as they started moving. Somehow he hadn't expected this particular skill from him. "What's this all about?" he asked expectantly.

"Can't a man dance with his friend?" Clint pouted. His eyes sparkled mischievously under the arm lights as he spun his partner.

"No," Tony said bluntly. That just wasn't the way things happened for them.

"Fine, fine, I've got a bet that I can get you all to dance with me faster than Nat can," Clint admitted, "and she's already gotten to me and Thor."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tony wondered how he had missed that. It would have been a sight to see. Maybe there were cameras he could hack later… "You do realize she's got an advantage?" he asked as he was dipped.

"Why else do you think I took this bet?" Clint asked in return. He brought his partner back up and then began leading them back toward the bar.

Between the people, Tony saw that the redheaded spy was trying to butter up his science bro and the American icon. It didn't appear to be going anywhere. He snickered as Steve traded glances with Bruce.

"And she's stonewalled," Clint said with satisfaction. "Think you could help me bag them? You and Thor will dance with anybody, but those two are a hard bargain." He quirked a brow as he looked back at his friend.

"I think Steve will need some working on, but I know I can get Mean Bean on board," Tony agreed happily. He looked forward to convincing the super soldier, just like everything else that had to do with him. Even better if it got him a turn out on the dance floor.

Warily, Clint scrutinized him. "What will I have to do?" he questioned, knowing better than to expect anything except room, board, and insults for free with the genius.

Tony grinned. "Next time I need to get out of a meeting, you cover for me," he said. Sometimes he could get away with citing that the Iron Man suit needed work, but not often enough for his taste. A new word needed to be invented for how much he _detested_ boring board meetings.

"Deal. Ready?" Clint agreed. He turned calculating eyes on the bar, watching Nat flirt with one man then the other in her attempts to win.

"Ready," Tony said, praying he wouldn't be murdered in his sleep for it. Then again he tended to have an overprotective super soldier in his bed… Maybe he'd be okay.

It was a few seconds' work to pull Bruce out of his chair in the middle of a sentence and shove him at Clint. "I want to sit. You go dance or something," he told his fellow scientist in a hurry. He was grateful that Nat was sitting on Steve's other side as the archer pulled Bruce onto the dance floor; her glare could probably melt him.

Thank every god on Asgard that Steve shifted just enough to block him from sight. The man deserved good things for that. Maybe an upgrade on his bike.

Now Nat worked even harder, on both of them. All she got from Steve were subtle shifts away (which happily put him closer to Tony) and polite refusals. With Tony, all stops were taken out as they flirted over the super soldier's head. It was fun, and strangely reminded him of when she was his PA.

"Hey Spangles, let's get out there!" Tony exclaimed, right after threatening to show the spy later that night how silver his tongue was. Not that he actually would, she was too scary to even think about actually doing it.

Steve was obviously blindsided, as he allowed himself to be manhandled from his stool. Right up until they got to the edge of the dance floor he wore a befuddled look, trying to figure out where this came from. Then his eyes went wide. "No, Tony! Stop! Tony, stop! I- I don't know how to dance!" he stammered.

How that had happened in an era where everybody did, Tony wasn't sure. But it only intensified his determination, as he pulled the super soldier to the edge of the dance floor. "I'll teach you," he said. He took his partner by the hands and placed them correctly.

The hand at his waist squeezed, adjusted to the curve of his hip. Between that and the cold of the palm against his, Tony was left a little breathless. They were close enough to feel the cool of the other man's body through their clothes, chests almost touching. Whether he woke up cuddling the man nearly every morning or not, being this close still drove him a little crazy.

"We start off moving in a box," Tony said, once he swallowed the lump in his throat. Using the hand holding that larger one, he motioned in the direction he wanted to go.

The movement to the side was smooth and precise. The next was similar. It wasn't long before the steps were being performed without thought, their circles growing bigger and then including turning. Each new move Tony showed was learned rapidly, once demonstrated.

"Reminds me of missions with the Commandos," Steve reported cheerfully as he brought Tony in after a spin, "Sometimes it would be so dark we had to signal by touch." He danced with surety now, sweeping past where Bruce was awkwardly coached through the steps by Clint.

The evil eye he got from the archer was met by sticking out his tongue. It wasn't his fault he was a great teacher.

As the movements became muscle memory, Steve began to improvise. Somehow that always brought his partner closer, until they were often pressed together from chest to hips. It felt more like a salsa than a waltz now. Not that Tony was complaining.

The song changed several times and the night wore on. Sometimes they would talk, sometimes they would just dance. Tony was sure his heart would pound out of his chest the whole time.

The intensity of those blue eyes on him was even more electrifying than his hands. There was just enough contact of their torsos to get an idea of the hard muscles under that uniform, but not enough to get more than a taste. Long legs brushed against his and arms slid along his back. It was addicting. Tony was sure that he would be driven mad by want before the night was up. Was this what it would be like to actually be Steve's?

The reminder was like a bucket of ice. Right in the middle of a turn Tony froze, leading his partner to stumble into a nearby couple. Even as Steve apologized to the people, the genius's brain went a little numb and his arc reactor felt a little heavier.

Steve wasn't his. The ring was still on his finger, a gleaming reminder that he might never be.

Suddenly Tony needed a drink.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked, eyes roving him with concern.

The spell broken, Tony was able to lie. "Yeah, just got an idea for the suit," he said cheerfully, "Look, Clint's free!" He pulled the archer in and shoved him at the super soldier in order to make his own escape.

It just resulted in getting swept up by Nat. Damn. At least she didn't look ready to kill him. "Alright, Stark?" she asked, giving him that all knowing look she must have learned from Agent.

"Yeah, yeah. Where'd you come from anyways?" Tony griped at her even as he moved.

He was ignored, or more accurately his untruth was seen through and then ignored. "You seriously haven't told him yet?" Nat asked, deadpan.

Alarms buzzed in Tony's head even as he went to lie again. No one could know. He wouldn't let this be used against him. "Told who, what? You've gotta be more specific than that, really. Have I told bird brain that his new arrows are ready, have I told Brucie that I-" he started chattering, though he wilted under the force of that look. Even as he dipped her he looked for a way out of this conversation.

Bruce and the Iron Man suit were hanging out in a dark corner by the bar, appearing to be deep in conversation. Across the dance floor, Thor interrupted Clint and Steve's (very good looking) dance asking for a turn with the captain. The archer practically threw them together and cackled at the sight. On the sidelines Pepper chatted with Happy, and they looked to be flirting. No one was coming to his rescue.

In his arms, Nat stared slightly down at him with disgust. "Please tell me you're not that oblivious," she told him.

It was a strange experience being dipped by a woman, Tony thought, but was back on his feet in one smooth movement before he could worry. Not that she wasn't strong enough for the motion. He had seen some of the Budapest files. No, this conversation was more worrying. "Yes, I know I'm in love with him," he admitted in a whisper.

"Then go get him. He won't say no," Nat answered in that tone that screamed, "Duh!" The look only intensified that.

"It's not me he wants," Tony refuted.

When he looked over at Steve, he found that the man had actually managed to lure the Iron Man armor onto the dance floor. For being so bulky the machine was graceful as it spun the captain around. It probably helped that the armor was only a few inches taller, and had an all-knowing AI controlling it. Good old JARVIS.

"Trust me, it's you," Nat told him, almost too close in order to whisper secrets into his ear, "The way he looks at Iron Man is nothing compared to how he looks at you. It's a daily battle for us all to not just lock you in a closet and be done with it." If she got any closer, they'd be chest to chest. She might discover the arc reactor.

Partially for that reason, Tony pulled slightly away. He looked her in the eyes, and despite that his voice nearly broke, he told her candidly, "It's not me he wants. Even if he does swing this way. It's Anthony Starosta that he sees when he looks at me." And the worst part was that he could understand why.

The spy frowned at him. "How do you know about him?" she questioned.

This song had a faster beat, so they moved with it. It was without notice, on long-honed instinct, as they talked.

"What do you mean? He's all over the internet if you Google 'seventh Howling Commando' and let the conspiracy nutters talk," Tony said, before realizing he'd struck gold, "Hold the phone. He's real? Like, really real?" He trusted Steve, of course he did, but outside confirmation is also valuable.

"Real enough for SHIELD to have his file," Nat revealed, "They had his body too, but it got reburied a few days ago." She seemed unconcerned about this as she was twirled.

It all added up to a horrible whole in Tony's mind. "So that's what they loaned Bruce that lab for," he said out loud without realizing it. He remembered Bruce asking about the security in the labs, and him checking it out remotely only to find bugs everywhere and shut them all down. If they had this guy's body and Bruce and a lab with DNA testing equipment… They wanted to find out exactly who this guy was. Like they didn't already know.

From how her brow furrowed, Nat figured something out too. "The big question is why after all that testing, Bruce destroyed the results," she murmured.

The idea of _Bruce_ doing that was inconceivable. But Nat's sources were many and reliable, so it had to be true. "Maybe the results were too dangerous," Tony suggested.

The way Nat's eyes roamed his face now was like she was trying to categorize him. Or maybe overlaying a face over his. "Super soldier serum," she provided.

That would do it. But how would the guy have gotten it? "I thought Steve was the only successful test subject?" Tony asked, just to be sure.

They quieted as one of the subjects of their conversation passed them. With how graceful Steve and Thor were, they could probably win some contests. They too were talking intensely, though what about, Tony couldn't suss out; they weren't speaking English.

"When did Thor learn Yiddish?" Nat asked.

"When did he learn English?" Tony returned. It sure as hell wasn't the god's first language, but he spoke it without falter.

Nat dipped her head in concession and got back to their original conversation. "He was _Erskine's_ only successful test subject. Everyone tried to recreate the serum, maybe someone succeeded. It's what Steve implied when he was interrogated about the destroyed data," she said, putting the pieces together, before she snorted, "Not that we can really trust that."

"He's Captain America, Nat," Tony pointed out.

"He's a tactician who specialized in guerilla warfare and special operations during the deadliest conflict of our time," Nat countered, "and I have it on good authority that he fooled the lie detector. He has things to hide."

The very idea was foreign, like a stupid Bruce or a non-scary Pepper. "What could he be hiding?" Tony wondered out loud. He didn't have quite enough data to figure it all out yet.

"All we've figured out is that it has to do with Starosta. He died under suspicious circumstances of a hole in his chest the size of my fist," Nat said, holding her hand up for reference, "The file says it was assisted suicide in the face of being experimented on by HYDRA." Her voice was enough to say that she didn't believe it for an instant.

"You think he was murdered?" Tony asked carefully. If she was right, that would mean Steve protected whoever did it. And the only person he could think of who might rank over someone the super soldier saw with such fondness, maybe even love, was…

"The file says Bucky Barnes was the one to, ah, assist," Nat said delicately. Her smile was distinctly sharklike as she confirmed his thoughts.

A picture was being painted in Tony's mind that he really didn't like. "No wonder this guy was written out of the history books," he said. Without him, the Howling Commandos were a unified team hand picked by Captain America to take down HYDRA. With him, they were divided by a murder that was then covered up by a national icon who was thought of as the face of incorruptible pure pureness. It was more than a little difficult to think of.

It seemed that Nat took pity on him. She patted his cheek and gave him a sad sort of smile. "All idols have feet of clay. Sometimes it just takes some extra work to chip away the paint," she told him, "I know you love Steve, and I still think you should go for it, but be careful. You can't trust everything to come out of that perfect mouth." She paused, weighing her words.

"And?" Tony asked, curious.

The smile Nat wore turned mischievous. "Are you up for helping us figure out who Starosta really was?" she asked.

As they separated, giving up their dance, Tony scoffed. "You thought I wouldn't be?" he asked, scandalized.

"I thought you would be," Nat said, before she disappeared into the crowd.

Left alone with his overturned world, Tony sneaked over to where Happy was coming back from the bathroom. "Hey, uh, can you get me out of here? This party's over for me," he requested of his chauffer.

Though Happy looked at him with curiosity, he agreed. "Let me tell Pepper," he said, and waded through the crowd to do it. The conversation was mercifully short.

As he was driven home, Iron Man suit in the back seat (how had JARVIS managed to sneak it out of that crowded room anyways?) Tony thought deeply on everything that had happened. He'd admitted to one of the people he trusted least in the world that he was in love, when he had barely been able to even think it. In return, she'd broken everything he knew about the man he loved. And they were going to see whether there was more Steve had covered up than a murder.

Sometimes he wondered what kind of fucked up world he lived in. Other times, he got drunk enough to be able to forget.

It looked like tonight was going to be one of those other times.


	12. Emotional Bankruptcy

Thank you so much for your patience with me! My first week of work just ended and man, I'm wiped out. But you've all been so good to me. So I decided you need another chapter, pronto pup.

And to the reviewers, **Zenoneel-Sarior** , **PickledCucumbers** , **DoublePaws** , **Kae Richa** , and a **Guest** : you're all spectacular.

 **Zenoneel-Sarior** : That's actually a good question. I think he came into this oblivious, but now he's getting clues about what happened and t's all adding up in his mind... Though of course, he's gotta work through his denial and "science says it's impossible" to see it. I'm taking blatant advantage of that, as you can see.

 **Guest** : I try to keep it to once a week, but sometimes life just gangs up on you, ya know?

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Emotional Bankruptcy**

" _The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it."_

― _Terry Pratchett, Diggers_

For the first time, Tony didn't feel safe crawling into Steve's bed after a nightmare. No, images danced before his eyes of Bucky Barnes blasting open the chest of a man who looked just like him while Captain America looked impassively on. Combined with the other nightmares, it was the tipping point.

Despite many opinions to the contrary, Tony was self aware enough to know that he had PTSD and he had it bad. He'd been dealing with it since Stane's betrayal. No, before that. Since Afghanistan. Maybe even before _that_.

The nightmares used to be bearable, of waterboarding and Yinsen's death and Stane's face smiling down as he took the life right out of Tony's chest. Then the pain of the poisoning and leaving Steve all alone in an unfamiliar world was added on. Now, he had the blackness of space and the coldness of Steve's face as he watched a man get murdered by his best friend. It was too much.

Every time someone came within five feet he was aware of them, every time they were behind his back he would jump. His heart would race in instinctual terror whenever anyone came too close to his chest. Even (especially) Steve now. He couldn't sleep, his emotions were out of whack, and despair was taking over.

It wasn't a surprise that Tony decided that was the night to drink himself into oblivion.

It wasn't a surprise when he blacked out around four in the morning.

It was a surprise, even to him, when he woke up in bed feeling like he'd been hit in the chest with a semi truck.

He groaned and wondered absently what he did this time. Was it alcohol poisoning? He bet it was alcohol poisoning.

"Tony? Are you awake?" Steve asked hopefully.

The only reason Tony didn't jump was because he was still too sluggish. Instead he turned his head to face the super soldier at his bedside, and wished he hadn't.

Steve's eyes were red and puffy, and his nose could have gotten him nicknamed Rudolph. He was hunched over, resting his head on his arms by Tony's hip, the rest of him precariously perched on an uncomfortable looking folding chair. From how his back cracked when he sat up, he had been in that position a while.

It was hard to decide whether Tony wanted him there or not. "What happened?" he croaked.

"You don't remember?" Steve questioned. He got up and poured a glass of water and then offered it with a straw.

Water was good, Tony decided. It gave him time to try and remember what the hell happened last night. Nothing but booze and blacking out came to mind.

"I came into the kitchen to get a snack before my run, and I found you on the floor with your arc reactor out," Steve told him, heart breaking vulnerability in his voice, "You were giggling at it."

That was worse than Tony thought. "Why the fuck was I doing that?" he asked no one in particular. He had his moments of drunken brilliance, but they were paid for by hours of stupidity like this. (Actually this was the worst one yet, but he wasn't going to say that.)

Steve let out a nearly hysterical laugh. "I was hoping you would know," he said, sitting back down on the chair, "After I put it back in JARVIS said that it had only been out thirty seconds and you wouldn't need a hospital, so I carried you in here and kept an eye on you." He blinked rapidly, and please say those weren't tears welling up. Please.

"Thanks, big guy, but I think I'm fine," Tony said, waving him off. Turmoil pummeled him. He felt safe with Steve still, but knew he shouldn't. It was wreaking havoc and he needed to sort it out before anything else stupid happened.

"I had to tell Pepper when she called about today's board meeting," Steve said. It was a death sentence if Tony had ever heard one.

Again, the genius groaned. He'd never be able to live this down. "She's the only one that knows, right?" he asked hopefully.

"The team thinks you're sleeping off your hangover," Steve answered satisfactorily.

"I would say you're the best, but you told Pepper," Tony said dryly. While he would have gotten yelled at later about missing yet another important meeting because of his alcoholism, he could live with that. Instead there was going to be a crying Pepper yelling at him for being stupid, and why didn't he just talk to that therapist already?

"I think I can live with that," Steve said with a smile. It made him unbearable to look at, happy and sad at the same time with soft light from the gap in the curtains outlining him like some kind of damn angel.

Thankfully, Pepper stormed in right then. "I can't believe you, Tony!" she shouted, but it was obvious to him that she was more afraid than angry, "Why did you do something stupid like that!" She yelled for a good few minutes, Steve nodding emphatically along, before she let out a sob.

"Pepper, Pepper, please don't do that," Tony tried, but gave up when he only got another sob. If there was a worse thing than Pepper crying over him, he wasn't aware of it.

Not even Steve's accusing look was that bad. It was like he had kicked a puppy or cussed at the elderly or something similarly unpatriotic.

Neither of them seemed to accept that he didn't remember even thinking about taking out the arc reactor, never mind actually doing it. Instead Pepper told them to get the alcohol out of the tower. That was rapidly agreed on. Even though Tony knew he would hate being a forced tee-totaler soon enough.

Steve's suggestion was strange but enticing, putting locks on the arc reactor so that Tony couldn't take it out by himself. Where he got that idea, the genius wasn't sure about. It did seem like an effective countermeasure however, so he promised to investigate ways of doing that.

The enthusiastic agreement Pepper gave sealed the deal.

It would be a good idea even without this setback, Tony thought. Such a thing would have bought enough time for the paralysis to wear off when Stane got to him. It wouldn't have done anything good for the palladium poisoning, but that wasn't an issue anymore. Now if someone wanted to take out his arc reactor, they would have to get a damn locksmith.

Until he built the new arc reactor, Tony was restricted from alcohol. He pretended not to notice the little pow-wow Steve and Pepper had right outside the door, or that afterward the all-American hero used every excuse he could find to be attached at the hip to Tony. Combined with the lingering paranoia that Nat's research had provided him with, and his own unrequited feelings, it was hell.

Especially spending the night with Steve wrapped tightly around him again because the super soldier would always find an excuse to stay and fall asleep wherever Tony was. Every single time he managed to wriggle out of that iron grip to go to the workshop, the super soldier looked like he was in pain as he searched for the warmth he was used to. It only made the excuses to stay late in the workshop more numerous. Tony didn't want to see that look more than he had to.

Besides, he had to figure out how to work the locks on the new arc reactor. That was where that old piece of junk from his dad's crates came in handy. It must have been the inspiration for the huge arc reactor that had powered the weapons plant, he thought upon examining it. But it was the sides that interested him, with the intricately interlocking gears. Those could very easily have been locks to keep it in place.

When he ran it through JARVIS's scanners, his breath was taken away. It was an arc reactor almost exactly like the one in his chest. Except that he was right and the edges had locks. There was no damage to the gears. That implied that it had been removed by someone who knew the combination.

It was enough to inspire Tony. He worked on his version for days on end, until he had a new arc reactor and the wall along with it. If it was an exact copy of the smashed one, he ignored the coincidence.

Contacting a medical professional was one of the hardest things Tony had ever done. Under oaths of silence he discussed with a surgeon the problem of the arc reactor wall and how to go about replacing it with the new one he had built. It would be a risky procedure, she warned him, and require the disconnection of the magnet for a few precious seconds in order to replace it.

Not for the first time, Tony wished that Yensin was still alive. He helped build this damn thing, so he would be the most qualified to deal with it. And he would never tell a soul. That part was up in the air with Dr Benson, despite contracts and the threat of lawsuits up the wazoo.

It was the best he could do. Even as he stayed up worrying about it all night, he had to acknowledge that much.

When Tony went under the knife, he was actually grateful to see Steve and Pepper looking at him from the observation room. He knew the drugs were working when he didn't feel any worry about Pepper, just surety that they would both be fine. Trust in her and Steve.

The last thing he saw before the drugs pulled him under was a burning, hopeful blue gaze.

Instinctively he connected that with safety, and drifted off with a little smile.

After that, Tony felt more secure than he had in a long time. While he was still wary of Steve, he was more willing to listen to his instincts now. The ones that said the only danger around the super soldier was to anyone trying to attack Tony.

That was proven by the first situation the Avengers faced since Thor and Loki left.

It was just robots, and clunky half useless ones at that. They were still too much for the police, so the newly formed Avengers got called in.

To even their surprise, they worked extremely well together. They were missing Thor, but that was fine. Steve's plan negated that one of their heaviest hitters was off-world at the moment.

What ended up happening was that Steve stationed the spies on the roofs at either side of an alley. He then had the Hulk and Iron Man herd the robots toward him at the other end of the narrow space, trapping them in single file. It was a massacre on the robots' side after that.

Even when one got in a lucky shot at Iron Man, it was destroyed by the shield in seconds. There wasn't another chance for any other robot. If Tony wasn't shooting them, the Hulk was smashing with more rage than before and the Capsicle was crushing them with impunity.

"These things are so stupid," Clint complained from the right side rooftop.

"If they make me late to bingo, I'm not going to be happy," Steve echoed.

Tony couldn't help cackling at the old man joke.

"Where's Steve and what did you do to him?" Nat asked from the roof opposite the archer.

Steve's response wasn't unexpected, but it was amusing: "You're the one who tried trading me in at an antiques mall! I'm just playing along!" The way he bashed robots left and right proved that he was no old man.

As the whole thing was close enough to done and over with, Tony didn't feel bad about stopping to leer at the Captain. Damn, Coulson did good on that costume design. "I don't know about you guys, but I'd pay top dollar for him," he joked, "No matter how old he is." That wasn't even an exaggeration.

It was a shame the mask covered up Steve's ears. It was one of the few ways to know if he was blushing.

"Who knows, you might get the chance one of these days," Clint snorted as he finished off the last of the robots with an explosive arrow.

Everybody made to go home, but there was a sudden beep. Then another. More and more started, and Tony swore when he realized what it was. "Explosives! Everybody run!" he shouted into the comms.

It was too late, the blasts started going off one after another. The first was right below Tony and took him out of the sky. With a groan, he shook himself and struggled to his hands and knees. The hydraulics of the suit were down, he was moving it by muscle power.

A second blast rocked the buildings on either side of the alley. They wouldn't hold, Tony realized with horror. A third would bring them both down, right on top of him and Steve. "Get out of here!" he shouted at Cap, working to get to his feet.

Instead the idiot ran _toward_ him. Vaulting over broken robots, jumping over chunks of pavement, he dove for Tony just as the third explosion went off.

The walls on either side of them crumbled and suddenly Tony was grateful for the indestructible shield and almost indestructible body between him and the rubble. It was a horrible thing to think. Even as the screen blacked out from the building falling on them, he realized that this would hurt the other man. He didn't have any real armor, just leather and kevlar.

With each additional pound on top of them, Steve hissed and was forced to crouch lower. It was soon too dark under it all to see his face.

"Iron Man, Captain, are you alright?" he heard Clint ask over the comms.

The voice in the dark kept Tony from panicking like total darkness usually did. "I'm fine. The suit's holding up," he said, struggling to keep his composure.

"And Cap?" Clint asked again, concern growing in his voice.

"Just peachy," Steve gritted out. Hearing his voice made Tony's legs go weak with relief.

Rubble shifted around them and some noise indicated that it was being moved. "We're starting to dig you out. The Hulk isn't happy you're trapped," Nat reported grimly.

"Good, good. I really want to get out of here. Like, now," Tony chattered.

"Keep talking, guys," Clint encouraged.

And they did. Mostly Tony, since he had the suit and its advanced filtration systems, but every now and again Steve would put in a word. Only that and his vital spots not being crushed let Tony know the Cap was even alive.

Not that much had a chance of killing the world's first superhero, he thought with a wave of affection that took him by surprise. If smashing into ice at five thousand miles per hour, then going without air for seventy years didn't get him, how could a mere building? Especially with his trusty shield over him.

That Steve had taken this kind of a risk, for him, both took Tony by surprise and made him want to smack himself. His wariness didn't allow him to feel completely sure of his protector. The situation, and that this wasn't the first time Steve had put him before anything else, sneaked the feeling in.

And yet Tony couldn't help giggling.

"I think Iron Man's going a little crazy," Steve reported dryly.

"No no, not crazy," Tony disputed cheerfully, "Well, not more than I already was." Which was in itself a subject that could tie medical professionals up for years.

"Then why are you laughing?" Nat asked over the comms.

In response, Tony reached up with the one hand that wasn't trapped. Just in case the sensors were lying to him. The equipment in his gauntlet registered a human body, and he made a mental note to put the team's general characteristics into the program to better identify them and whether they were alive. Steve's unusual body temperature (68.24 Fahrenheit now, he was getting warmer by the day) was fooling it into thinking he was a corpse.

Steve let out an unmanly squeak when the gauntlet moved downward over his absolutely fabulous butt. When it went down the outside of his thigh to the ground, he seemed to relax a little. As much as he could while supporting who knows how much rubble, at any rate.

"Um, Iron Man? What's going on? Should we keep digging or leave you to… whatever?" Clint asked uncomfortably over the comms.

The implication caused Tony to let out a few more chuckles. "Keep digging," he insisted.

"Why did you feel the need to grab me there?" Steve questioned, thoroughly confused.

Over the comms, Nat cackled.

Tony's response was automatic. He flirted. "You know, if it weren't for the situation, I'd love to have you in this position a little longer," he said, and fully meant it.

The gauntlet recorded a brief rise in Steve's body temperature. It went back to normal far too fast to be natural. But that didn't make sense. "I think he's got a concussion," he reported.

"I'd also prefer my room, with less clothes," Tony specified happily.

"I regret telling you to keep talking," Clint grumbled.

There was a shifting of brick and concrete, and daylight peeked through. It was beautiful.

Tony allowed himself to let out a shaky breath. It was over.

* * *

Months passed and all that happened was the increase in nightmares. For both of them, Steve thought when he woke up alone yet again. There were more things than ever to have bad dreams about.

If it wasn't New Year's Eve of 1944, it was the Battle of New York. If it wasn't either of those, it was the battles that had raged since. Every single one they had come close to losing someone, and more often than not it was Iron Man.

Pretending to not understand the watch the other Avengers had them under was easy. Most of Steve's life had been spent faking obliviousness, whether it was to all the times Bucky had gone out to beat up the guys who beat _him_ up, or missions during the war. After his talks with Bruce, he knew why and could accept their precaution.

Not that he was fond of the aim of their plans. Contrary to popular opinion, Steve liked being alive.

Despite that, they all grew closer. More often than not Bruce and Tony could be found in the lab of Stark Tower, usually with Steve drawing or reading on the sofa. Nat and Thor made an unusual pair, but after the first time Steve watched them stargaze (and once he realized that the God of Thunder was also subjected to jokes about his age) he could understand it. Between the two groups Clint hovered, sometimes going out for a night on the town with Tony and other times doing spy stuff with Nat.

Thursdays were joked about as being Avengers day, since it was named after Thor. It was the main day they all came together as a group for movies, games, and the occasional field trip to the zoo or any other outing that sounded fun. Risk made the entire team swear at Steve until the end of the night, and Monopoly lasted until Saturday when Tony and Clint were both too canny to be beaten within the day.

When someone (Bruce) had the terrible idea of playing Diplomacy last week, they were interrupted right in the middle of Tony threatening to murder Thor over the English Channel while Steve broke his alliance with Nat in favor of helping Clint take out Bruce's fleet. The Avengers alarm was actually welcome that Thursday. From then on Diplomacy was banned from the Tower. As Tony said, "I have this buddy," he coughed out Bruce's name, "I trust him a lot. I'll trust him with my house, my car, and my wallet. But I will _not_ trust that bitch with Belgium." It said a great deal that the other scientist actually looked flattered.

That was part of why this week they had a game that competition played very little part in. After the fiasco that was last week, there was no way they could survive anything serious. So Nat had brought out a game called Cards Against Humanity.

"What am I giving up for Lent?" Clint read off. He chuckled disappointedly and said, "I have the perfect card for this, too." It was the way this game seemed to work.

"What is Lent?" Thor asked, frowning down at his cards.

"It's a religious holiday," Steve answered as he carefully selected his card. He slid it across the table to Clint at nearly the same time Nat did.

"You would know all about that, wouldn't you?" she teased in that flat voice of hers.

Steve rolled his eyes. If it wasn't his age, it was Captain America jokes or Catholic jokes or Irish jokes. There was no winning with her.

"I bet those nuns paddled him all the time, sinner that he is," Tony joked.

"I didn't need to know even more of your kinks, Tony," Bruce almost reprimanded. The sparkle in his eyes was too mischievous for that, though.

Unrepentant, Tony shrugged. He tossed in his card, the last to do so.

To keep from knowing whose card was whose, Clint shuffled them. He read off the card again, then flipped the cards one by one. "Am I giving up that ass for Lent?" He gave Tony a significant glance before he read the other cards, "Am I giving up autocannibalism for Lent? Am I giving up shotguns for legs, for Lent? Am I giving up my sex dungeon for Lent?" He visibly choked and had to bang his chest with a fist as he asked, "Or am I giving up the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir for Lent?" He held up the last card, looking around hopefully for who it belonged to.

Almost sheepishly, Steve took the black card. This was his third out of eight rounds.

Next was Bruce's turn to pick a black card. "Here lies Tony Stark, 1970-2012, devoted friend, lover of blank," he read off.

"Oh, this is so not fair," Tony complained even as he picked a card.

It was a battle for Steve to not chuckle as he picked his card. Hopefully Bruce would get the reference.

After all the cards were in, Bruce shuffled them, then asked, "Is Tony a lover of porn stars?"

As one, they all chorused, "Yes." Even Thor joined in.

"That was years ago!" Tony protested. No one bothered to answer.

"Is he a lover of spectacular abs?" Bruce continued.

"Only if they're genetically engineered," Nat muttered.

Bruce pretended to not hear her, as did Tony and Steve. Some things the super soldier couldn't tolerate hearing, for his own sanity.

"Is he a lover of explosions?"

"You bet!" Tony exclaimed.

"Is he a lover of heartwarming orphans?" Bruce snorted.

No one seemed to get it, but Clint made a bobbing motion with his head.

"Is he a lover of The Force?"

They all knew how much of a Star Wars nerd Tony was. There was no need to say a word.

Decision time was short. "I would say he's a lover of heartwarming orphans," Bruce said, with a look at Steve. He didn't need to ask whose it was. The joke was gotten. "But explosions is too true." He handed the card to Tony, who squealed happily.

Then it was Thor's turn. "I went from blank to blank, all thanks to blank," he read.

"Three cards," Bruce murmured, and frowned at his hand.

Each person put in their cards, some smirking and others shrugging, with Thor carefully looking in a different direction. Once Nat put her cards in, he reached for the closest pile.

"Read them top to bottom," Clint reminded the god.

With a nod, Thor did. "I went from my dad's dumb fucking face to Genghis Khan, all thanks to science," he said, somewhat horrified. Respect for parents must be a bigger thing on Asgard than it was here, now.

Tony's snickers both told who probably put that combination in, and were ignored. No matter how funny it was to hear the legitimate Norse god of thunder swear.

"I went from a fetus to Robert Downey Jr, all thanks to Prince Ali, fabulous he, Ali Ababwa," Thor said, frowning when he didn't get the joke.

"You didn't say it right," Steve couldn't help complaining.

"Would you care to assist me?" Thor requested, frowning at the cards.

With no other choice now, Steve did. He actually sang out the lyrics to his new favorite Disney movie. The tips of his ears got a little warm when Clint snickered, but no one else said anything.

Gravely, Thor nodded. "I went from a fetus to Robert Downey Jr, all thanks to A-li. handsome is he, Aliabawa!" he repeated, actually singing the last part.

It seemed that Clint couldn't help himself. He nearly busted a gut laughing.

"I went from the American dream to necrophilia, all thanks to a time travel paradox," Thor read out.

Steve couldn't help gaping at the cards. What the hell was that? He glanced across the table at Bruce, who shrugged.

"Anything we should know, Captain?" Nat taunted slyly.

"Nothing about necrophilia," Steve refuted, grinning. Not even he was crazy enough for that.

"I went from the hardworking Mexican to party Mexicans, all thanks to 8 oz of sweet Mexican black tar heroin," Thor read off, dipping his head in concession to that.

It was an admittedly impressive set of cards. How long had the owner been holding onto those?

"What is heroin?" Thor inquired.

Tony saw the opportunity. Tony took the opportunity. "Yeah Bruce, you know so much about cocaine, what do you know about heroin?" he asked, blinking dewy dark eyes innocently at the doctor across the table.

No one bought that. "It's a highly addictive, very illegal hard drug and has a range of effects, both pleasant and not so much," Bruce answered with a clinical smile.

That answered, Thor went back to the cards and made a face of mixed appreciation and disgust. He then overturned the last set of cards. "I went from drinking alone to concealing a boner, all thanks to genetically engineered super soldiers," Thor said, and let out a hearty guffaw.

Everyone looked from Thor to Steve and back again. "That's actually a card?" Clint asked blankly.

To prove it, Thor held it up. Indeed, the white card did say 'genetically engineered super soldiers'.

Far from being offended, Steve laughed. He was just amazed (and flattered) that he had his own Cards Against Humanity card. Kind of. He carefully steered away from thoughts of Tony and- shit.

"Steve, you okay?" Tony asked, tapping him on the face.

Somehow, lying to that face never got any easier. "Fine. My age is just catching up to me," Steve said cheerfully.

It was enough to get a laugh out of the table. The whole incident was forgotten as Thor awarded the black card to Nat for the super soldier combo. The game continued and Steve's pile of black cards grew exponentially. Only Nat's rivaled his, and despite the nature of the game, they ended up in fierce competition.

By the time they ran out of white cards, Steve had won a resounding victory. He gathered the prize of several chocolates and walked smugly away with them before Tony could convince him to part with any of them. They were _his_ this time, since the genius didn't feel like being around him anymore.

The thought hurt. More than he would ever say.

Since everyone else was busy cleaning up, Steve took the opportunity to escape to the roof. Not many other people went up there. He needed some alone time to think on what he had realized that evening, thanks to the super soldiers card.

Under the starlight, Steve had to wonder… What if…

It wasn't long before Bruce appeared, climbing cautiously from the trap door to where Steve sat. Did heights not agree with him? "I thought you might be up here," the scientist said. He let out a breath when he got to where the other man sat, and slid down on his own bum.

"You thought right," Steve replied needlessly. Now that his friend was safe, he turned his eyes back to the stars. It was only up here that he could see them, above the light pollution of the city.

For a few minutes they stayed quiet, looking up at the heavens. It was a relatively clear night, only a few clouds drifting lazily across the sky. The noises of the city drifted up just as lazily, muted by distance.

"What happened during cards?" Bruce asked. "You looked like you just remembered you left the stove on before deployment." Knowing his expressions as he did, that was likely a fine comparison.

It took a moment to find the words again. "We agreed that Tony got a version of the serum and that it probably happened while he was a captive at Azzano," Steve prefaced.

A hum of agreement came from Bruce.

"Bucky survived the same experiments," Steve revealed stonily, "He was able to keep up, do things that he had never been able to before, just like Tony." He hoped that got the point across. He was almost unable to imagine his best friend and the man he loved going through that pain, becoming like him… and not saying a word. Then again, it explained the times that they were closeted together afterward, when everyone thought Tony was cheating on him. They were trying to get their bearings in the face of their new abilities.

The lack of trust splintered, even years later. Just like the lack of trust Tony had in him now.

"They never found Barnes's body," Bruce said, following his train of thought.

"After the Winter Soldier was unmasked, he looked exactly like Bucky, just with a crooked nose," Steve added. It was all coming together in a picture he didn't like.

"And since the Winter Soldier came through with Tony, meaning that he was from the future… Do you think that…?" Bruce seemed unable to say it as well.

The mere concept was enough to make Steve angry in his friend's defense, and ashamed that he didn't look for a body, and horrified at the possibilities of what had happened. Was this why Tony had died rather than be taken by HYDRA again? Not the torture and experimentation, but knowledge of what Bucky would go through and fear that it might happen to him too?

The idea put a lump in Steve's throat. If that was true, he was a terrible friend and even more terrible boyfriend.

"You said that the Winter Soldier was going after Bucky in an effort to commit suicide. If he is what Bucky would become, and he knew that, is there a chance that he didn't mean it in the way that everyone thought?" Bruce asked suddenly.

It was a startling thought. And inherently horrifying. "You mean, you think that the Soldier went back to kill his previous self?" Steve asked.

"That would erase his own existence. The ultimate form of suicide," Bruce confirmed.

They sat in silence, half unable to believe it and half not wanting to.

Steve just hoped that whatever happened, it was nothing like the images scrolling through his head.

It would be a long time before he found out that it was far different. And far worse.


	13. Salt and Pepper

Thank you to the reviewers for your patience! You're amazing! And by "you" I mainly mean **Kae Richa** , **PickledCucumbers** , **arya304** , **Zenoneel-Sarior** , and a **Guest** reviewer.

Unfortunately, stuff is not calming down. Chapters will be sporadic. I promise this will be finished. Eventually. We're almost to Iron Man 3 so it shouldn't be that long... Hopefully. :P

Anyways, yes I totally underpowered Amora. I don't know the character too well and needed an enemy that would be able to do... stuff. You'll see what and why when you read it. Apologies to any fans of her that are reading this.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Salt and Pepper**

" _Go to heaven for the climate and hell for the company."_

― _Benjamin Franklin Wade_

Months went by, and the team beat off villains at every possible crossroads. The Avengers were deployed everywhere from New York (their home base, the city proudly announced) to the DRC (where a lioness tried attacking, Clint killed it, and it ended up being eaten, all on the way to the actual mission). It was hectic.

It was the best of times, Tony thought fondly. Okay, so it could be better. He wasn't too fond of not being able to try that charbroiled lion because he couldn't take off his helmet, and learning how to sleep in the armor was a mission in and of itself. While he could go for days without sleep, that usually led to him running around the lab pantsless and rambling about nonsense, which was unacceptable for Iron Man.

At the same time, it kept him from needing to deal with humidity, mosquitoes, and risk of getting bit by a snake when crouching down to do his business. Yes, that last thing actually happened to Thor. For him it was no big deal, being him and all, but the concept was horrifying… and hilarious. Thank everything for all the filtration systems in the suit.

By the end of each of the longer deployments, everyone but Thor and Steve gave him sour looks. To them, it must have looked like he had it easy.

The shorter ones were usually in New York or elsewhere in the States or Canada. There, it was often 'get in, beat the bad guys, get out'. Those were Tony's favorites. Partially because he could get out of the suit quicker on those, and partially because it meant spending less time with Steve.

What did it say that he loved the longer deployments almost as much because it allowed him to spend time with Steve and feel at least slightly comfortable with him at the same time? In the suit, Tony had a fighting chance, just in case history felt like repeating itself a little. And the others were there too, and likely wouldn't tolerate murder from him.

That being said, Bruce was acting a little weird. From what Nat said, he knew about what happened with Starosta. If anything, he knew more than anyone about what actually happened except for Steve. So why did he look at the man with such unbearable sympathy?

Though he hated it, Tony put his science bro on the list of people to carefully monitor.

That was one of the reasons he went back to Malibu for a while. It had been repaired months ago, but he had been so busy with the Avengers that he had neglected to go back. Stark Tower, now Avengers Tower, had become home until he couldn't stand any of their stupid fucking faces anymore.

Steve had probably covered up a murder, Bruce was on his side, Tony had to hack into Nat's files to find out what she had uncovered since their talk at the charity gala, and Clint was being almost as much of a secretive super spy as Fury. Only Thor didn't get on his nerves constantly. And even he was hiding shit, Tony knew after the third time he came into a room only for the Asgardian to pointedly switch topics with whoever he was talking to.

It took a while to get used to sleeping alone again. Erasing from his mind the puppy eyes Steve gave him when he said he was going back to California _alone_ was a little harder. But Tony managed. He filled his days with work and nights with even more work, and even did paperwork when Pepper asked him to.

There was no better way of getting her suspicious than doing what he was supposed to. It shouldn't have been a surprise that she would show up in his lab after she got out of the office one night, arms crossed and frowning.

"Pepper! Love of my heart, light of my life, what are you doing here?" Tony asked cheerfully, tilting his welding mask up. With a word the music went down to a reasonable volume and he put down his tools in preparation for a long scolding.

"You've been doing paperwork, without me harassing you, and getting it in on time," Pepper stated, waving a packet at him. He recognized his own handwriting on it at a glance.

"Figured I'd give it a try," Tony said breezily.

Pepper knew him too well to buy it. "What's going on?" she asked pointedly.

"I can't win with you," Tony complained mildly, even as he started fidgeting with some components he had been working on. He had never been able to focus too well unless he was doing something with his hands. It had driven his teachers batty.

Thankfully, Pepper had grown used to it. Instead of snapping at him, she pointedly sat down on a stool. She wasn't going anywhere until she had her answers.

Let it be known that it took more than a few minutes of the 'I promise I'm listening, now let me hear all about your man-pain' stare to defeat Tony Stark. It took a full fifteen minutes of it. "Okay, so I'm bored," he admitted when the quiet got to him.

"Then why are you still here and not at the Tower?" Pepper questioned.

There was no way he'd be bored there. Between Thor accidentally destroying his house all the time and science with Bruce, there was always something to do. "I don't feel like dealing with people, so get," he tried, hinting at her to leave.

It was taken as confirmation of problems with his teammates. "What happened with the Avengers?" she asked, unfortunately hitting the nail right on the head. And she knew it.

Tony sighed and leaned on the table. "Don't worry about it," he told her coolly, despite that he knew she wouldn't let it go.

"You know that's beyond my control. Even when you're surrounded by superheroes I worry about you," Pepper said with a patient smile. She was far too good.

Maybe telling someone on the outside would help him get a better view on things. And it would get her off his back. "How much do you know about the Howling Commandos?" Tony prefaced.

It obviously took Pepper by surprise. "Not much, just what I found out in connection to Steve," she said, referring easily to the blonde man she'd become so fond of.

"For once the conspiracy nuts were right, there was a seventh. His name was Anthony Starosta," Tony told her, not sure how he felt about actually saying any of this out loud. It kind of scared the shit out of him. It was kind of a relief.

"What?" Pepper was blindsided. Even as she frowned, obviously wondering about his mental health, she asked, "Why isn't he in the history books? Why aren't there any _pictures_?" Those were actually really good questions.

"Jay, pull up the pictures. You know which," Tony called to his computerized butler easily.

The projector flared to life, and the quiet music was all that could be heard for several minutes. Both of their eyes were glued to the pictures, one of a man long dead. No matter how many times he looked at them, Tony only ever found similarities.

"Isn't Starosta your mother's maiden name?" Pepper asked when she finally found her voice.

Tony nodded. "A transcript of a letter he wrote said that he was my dad's cousin," he said.

A snort left Pepper before she could control it.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. It was written from Colditz Castle when it was a POW camp for Allied officers, so I can understand that lie. He probably had to say he was related to somebody important so they didn't shoot him," he explained thoughtfully, "All the letters I found from that time were full of coded messages and references to Barnes, so they were probably in there together." Considering what he knew now, the idea was chilling.

When Pepper looked over at him, her face was puzzled. "Aren't you happy, though? You might have _family_ left. Or at least Steve might have somebody left," she said gently.

This time, Tony's smile was bitter. "Aunt Peggy's still alive, and so are Uncle Gabe and Uncle Dum Dum. This guy died before any of them, December 31, 1944, while they were in HYDRA custody. Barnes killed him," he answered. With a click, he went to the death report.

Pepper's noise of disgust when she got to the method of death was well deserved. "No wonder he was written out of the books," she said, nose wrinkled.

"Steve's best friend kills a teammate, who looks just like me, right in front of him and the guy gets conveniently written out of the history books? You can see why I'm having some issues," Tony said dryly.

As she read more of the report, Pepper's face flipped into a variety of expressions. "What if it wasn't murder?" she asked suddenly. It would have been less of a surprise for her to have started speaking Swahili.

Tony blinked at her. "What else would it be?" he asked. Was this how everyone else felt around him? It was irritating and kind of horrible.

"What if the report wasn't faked? This is the government, and I understand why you trust them about as far as you can throw them, but we're talking two highly trained commandos. If it was murder, wouldn't there be a fight in the reports? Defensive wounds noted?" Pepper pointed out, "This says there was only a tackle and maybe a minute of struggle, and the only injuries were those sustained when they were captured." She pointed at the relevant sections. Being the information wizard that she was, of course she was right when those pieces were read through again.

"It also says there was a fist sized hole in his chest. There are better, easier, ways to die," Tony told her with a snort. Maybe not for him, but certainly for normal people.

That much, Pepper had to concede. Still, she put a hand on his arm and was so sincere as she told him, "Sometimes the right answers are the easiest ones."

"My life is never that simple," Tony let out a forced laugh. It would be so nice, if it were.

"There's a first time for everything," Pepper said.

"It would be the first time," Tony agreed wryly.

"Yes, there's something strange about that report. But take that with a grain of salt. Sometimes a pipe is just a pipe," Pepper advised.

Tony smiled over at her and wondered how he had gotten such a good friend. "Turning into Freud on me?" he teased.

"If you don't think on what I've said and stop avoiding the Avengers, you bet I will," Pepper threatened. Knowing her, she would actually do it.

The choice between facing the team again and therapist-Pepper was astoundingly easy. Tony made a note of how quickly he could wrap up his current projects or export them to New York. At worst, he had another six months to go.

Satisfied, Pepper stood up. In her heels she was a little taller than him, but he was used to that from everyone but Bruce. "Is that all, Mr Stark?" she asked. It was habit.

"You can go, Miss Potts," Tony said, and waved her off. The moment the doors closed behind her, he took another look at the reports. They made no more sense than before, something was still off about them, but he couldn't figure out what.

A wise man once said, "Real life is crazier than fiction could ever hope to be. Fiction has to make sense." Perhaps it was a case of real life just being that mad. His own was a good example of how far that could extend.

Tony decided that he needed some more time on his own, trying to wrap his head around the idea of something being exactly as the package described. Life was _never_ like that for him. It had him all kinds of out of sorts.

That didn't mean that he left his team to the wolves when a call came in. No matter how sometimes he wished he could.

Two weeks later was one of those times. The call came in, and Tony was running for the armor before he consciously processed what he was doing. As it was being fitted onto him, he listened to Steve's report (and privately acknowledged how much he missed that deep voice).

"From what Thor told us, her name is Amora and she's a sorceress. Her power, if you can call it that, is to make any man fall in love with her with a kiss," Steve said with audible distaste.

Immediately, Tony wondered, "What about gay men? Or lesbians?" Shouldn't her powers have some kind of correlation with the target's sexuality?

"No idea. Thor says that she'll aim for the mouth, but any skin will have an effect," Steve continued, before giving the coordinates. It was transferred into the helmet and a map pulled up on the HUD. Dammit, he was the nearest one; she had appeared in Death Valley, of all places.

"Good thing there's no skin for her to hit on me," Tony said with satisfaction. He took off as soon as the suit was fully assembled around him.

There was a pause before Steve spoke again. "Be careful, Tony. I don't want to have to fight you," he said. The line cut out.

The idea of fighting Steve of all people, and possibly the rest of the team too, sent a shiver down Tony's spine. Even he wouldn't live through that.

It was probably the whole reason he landed so far from the woman dressed like a Viking. "Stop right there," he told her, raising a hand.

She was admittedly really hot. Especially when she smiled at him like that. Not as much as Steve, but still.

"What's your purpose here, Amora?" he asked.

"To rule, of course," she answered. Her tone was of surprise, like it wasn't obvious.

"You'll have to find some other planet. We aren't too big on alien overlords here. Didn't you hear about the last guy that tried?" Tony told her mockingly. He hoped she would leave it at that, but knew better than to expect it.

Sure enough, Amora laughed. "Luckily for me, I am not Loki," she said.

"Fine. You asked for it, lady," Tony said, and took off into the air. Into the comms, he asked, "What's your ETA?" He dodged a bolt of bright pink light and fired back with his repulsors.

"Five minutes," Clint answered.

"Five minutes? I can do that," Tony said, mostly to himself, as he dodged again.

Somehow, he did. It was a high stakes game of dodgeball, basically, if flying were allowed. Both of them threw bolts of energy at each other, turning sand to glass with the heat of their missed shots as they danced about.

A bolt of lightning nearly zapped Amora, signaling the team's arrival. Even she appeared to know when she was outdone. Within a few seconds, she was gone through what could only be described as a hole in the air.

"Well that was anticlimactic," Tony commented. He landed beside Thor, surveying the scene. There was no sign of the woman.

"She does not retreat needlessly," Thor cautioned him. Sharp Asgardian eyes roved the landscape.

Before either could move, two guns fired behind them.

What must have been a Norse swear word was hissed in a feminine voice.

Both men spun around and raised their weapons. Both were too slow, Amora darted through the gap between them. Her sword made a screeching noise against the armor.

At the same time, an unfamiliar voice practically yodeled out a war cry to their side. A man about the size of the Iron Man armor was charging them at an astounding speed for how bulky his musculature was. Over his head, he raised a two sided battle axe.

"Who's this guy?" Tony asked as he dodged the incoming strike.

"I am unaware of his name, but I know that he is able to open portals with his axe!" Thor grunted as he tried to hit back with Mjolnir. His strike was dodged.

"Weaknesses? For either of them?" Steve asked. It sounded like a bell rang as he hit the guy's helmeted head with his shield.

Thor took a moment to think even as he fought. "The same as any other Asgardian or human!" he answered.

"Jay, pull up a map of target areas," Tony commanded.

On both of the enemies, bull's-eyes appeared on the vital body parts not covered in armor. That basically amounted to faces, throats, and groins. Why did everyone on Asgard have to have super effective gear?

For a while, there was a stalemate. It was Tony and Nat versus Amora, and Steve and Thor dealing with her lackey, with Clint sniping at both whenever he had an opening. No matter what any of them did, Amora pulling out illusions and transforming objects, and Thor using gravity and wind as well as his usual thunder and lightning, neither side gave any ground. This may have been the most difficult battle he had been in this side of New York, Tony privately reflected. Asgardians really were no joke to fight.

Then Steve announced into the comms, "Bruce, time for you to suit up."

Tony grinned. This was always one of his favorite parts of battles. There was nothing quite like watching the Hulk take anything and everything down to size, all while exhibiting his own form of snark.

A roar announced the Hulk's arrival, and the world suddenly got a whole lot friendlier to the Avengers. They were going to mop the floor with these guys.

Except that the command was enough to show Amora who was in charge. Worse, that he was indeed a 'he' and had some skin showing. She abandoned her current position in favor of speeding toward Captain America.

"Steve, look out!" The warnings from Tony and Clint didn't come in time.

Seeing that woman with her perfect red lips all over Steve's made Tony's temper snap. Maybe it had something to do with him struggling to rip her hands off him before he fell limp. Maybe it was just that somebody was kissing him. Tony wasn't sure, but either way it led to him powering up the unibeam and readying mini missiles.

When Amora finally released Steve, she was smirking like she had just won the lottery. And she kind of had.

In their ears, Clint shrieked, "Captain America down! I repeat, Captain America down! We have a Code Caesar!"

What Code Caesar was, Tony wasn't sure at first. The way all the other Avengers began striking at Amora, her lackey, and Steve, told him quickly. The only one who wasn't firing on the captain was Tony.

"What the hell, guys!" Tony shouted at them. He released the mini missiles at the lackey and satisfaction curled in his gut when a howl of pain erupted as a result.

Before an answer could come, everything went topsy turvy. Steve, who was supposed to be under mind control, punched Amora in the face. From the way she flew several yards and then rolled almost as far, it must have been with his full strength.

Before she could even get up he was on her again. If this weren't an Asgardian, able to take it, he probably would have killed her several times over within a minute. Punching, kicking, kneeing, bashing her with his shield, he was beating on her with a fury like none Tony had ever seen from Steve. It was vaguely unsettling.

"I think she's down now," Nat said mildly. She had just finished business with their axe wielding friend and was currently unwrapping herself from around his neck. This probably wasn't the first time she'd choked out a dude with her thighs.

Cap got in a last kick before he shook his head and walked away. At Tony's side once more, he crossed his arms over his chest. "How about we get these two cuffed and into the quinjet?" he suggested.

Warily, Clint released the tension of his bow. "Thor, is there any way to test for her mind control?" he asked cautiously.

The prince had been checking to make sure Amora was even alive. "She is unconscious. Any control she had over the captain is gone," he said.

Everyone breathed easier after that. It was by now a normal thing for them to use cuffs on the baddies, originally designed for the Hulk but capable of restraining Thor and Cap. Then they were dragged into the quinjet and buckled into extra strength harnesses.

As always, Tony and Thor volunteered to fly back to New York ahead of the jet. There wasn't enough space for them, the rest of the team, and the prisoners in there.

It gave Tony some time to think on what he had seen. While he knew that Steve could go a little crazy, this was a whole new level. The guy nearly had to be kept from bashing the woman's face in! So much for not hitting a lady.

"JARVIS, make a note that mind control seems to be a berserk button for the Capsicle," Tony said, "and that it doesn't seem to work on him." That was a bigger relief than he would ever say.

"Noted, sir," his AI said serenely, "Though I would like to point out that it may not be about mind control."

Luckily they were below most airline traffic. It gave Tony the ability to zone out just a little as he thought about what that could mean. "Okay, so what else could it be about. It's mind control, but it's mind control through…" He blinked in disbelief.

It would be just like Steve to throw a fit not because of attempted mind control, but because that was done through manipulating his feelings. He wasn't exactly a man who took emotions lightly. Even worse, it was through love. Or rather, obsession.

That goddamn ring came to mind, almost exactly like the one Bruce had him examine months ago. Hand-made, anachronistic titanium. Of course Steve wouldn't take something lightly if it forced him to be disloyal to the man he had committed to so strongly, even when it was illegal.

By the time they got to the holding facility, Amora and her lackey were awake and glaring as they were led away. Someone had taken the precaution of gagging the enchantress as well as cuffing them both.

"Good riddance," Tony muttered to himself as he watched.

"Debriefing now?" Nat asked. She climbed out of one of the pilots' seats, right before Clint.

"It needs to be now, yes. I should deliver them to Asgard directly after," Thor said regretfully. From how he wrinkled his nose at his own smell when he went to adjust his cape, he felt the need for a shower just as much as anyone else.

Dirty, sweaty, and victorious, the Avengers tramped into the meeting room where Fury waited for them. Since they won and weren't fighting or anything, he wore only the usual glare. "Look what the cat dragged in," he said sassily, before launching into a critical congratulation speech.

If he weren't in the armor, Tony would be passing notes under the table to Steve or Nat, who sat on either side of him. As it was, he tried his best to sit at attention. It was a thing Iron Man did.

"My question is how you shook off her spell, Rogers," Fury ended expectantly.

"I think I may be of some help," Thor offered, an unusual satisfaction in his voice, "Amora's powers work on any man she kisses, yes, but a man who has already totally and completely dedicated himself to another is capable of breaking it, if he is of sufficiently strong will." He smiled at Steve, and holy shit it was like looking right into the sun.

Displeased, Clint complained, "And you saw no reason to tell us this before?" He fingered his folded bow absently. Two to one odds he wanted to shoot his alien teammate.

Thor blinked, and answered simply, "I did not know that this condition extended to any of us."

In response, Steve held up his left hand and titanium glinted under the flourescent lighting. "I don't just wear this because it looks pretty," he commented dryly.

"Who's got the other ring?" Nat asked. Knowing her, it was going straight in her dossier the moment she was free of debriefing hell.

"Doesn't matter. Dead before I could get the words out," Steve deflected bitterly. Meaning, Starosta but he didn't want to say so.

"Speaking of which, does anyone want to share with the class what Code Caesar is?" Tony asked bitingly.

Awkwardly, Thor shifted in his seat.

Bruce began playing with his pen again, spiraling it between his fingers faster than ever.

There was no motion from Nat or Fury that indicated they were about to say anything.

Clint looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. He opened his mouth to explain.

"It was the plan to kill me if I got out of control," Steve said casually, like it didn't fucking matter that his own team was planning to put him down like a rabid dog, "I assume it was named after the incident where Julius Caesar was assassinated by some of the Senators, including his friend Brutus?" He was strangely calm as he spoke, hands folded across his stomach and one leg thrown over the other. Did it really bother him so little?

In the suit, Tony spluttered. They had seriously come up with this? And thought it was necessary? "Mr Stark will be interested to learn about this," he said, giving himself an excuse to know about it outside the suit.

The way Clint closed his eyes, he didn't look forward to it. That made it more and more likely that he had come up with this convoluted scheme. "It isn't anything personal," he prefaced.

"Because that makes everything better," Tony snarked.

Steve put a hand on the shoulder of the armor. Whether it was to comfort or restrain was unclear. It just made the acceptance in his voice even more horrifying when he spoke. "Let me guess, you or Nat got into my unabridged file?" he guessed.

All the glances in Nat's direction indicated that it was her. "We thought it would be a good idea to plan for the inevitable," she said vaguely.

Okay, that sounded like bullshit.

Before Tony could open his big mouth, Steve blew away anything he could have said. "I take it you're referring to the Austria Incident," he said with an understanding that was almost incomprehensible.

"The one where you were just as much of an indestructible rage monster as the Hulk for three days," Bruce added. The idea was terrifying.

Yet somehow, Tony could imagine it. A blank face and burning eyes, uniform covered in the blood of enemies and friendly fire casualties alike. A super soldier gone mad, never stopping as he cut a bloody path across Europe.

"Yeah, Austria," Steve confirmed, shifting to a more attentive pose as he explained, "I can see why you planned for that eventuality. If I were in your shoes, I would have too. But-" He smiled, and it was not a nice one. "I already have a plan for that."

Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know. He had to, though. "That is?" he asked delicately.

When Steve looked at him, there was fondness and realignment in his eyes at once. "Nothing you need to worry about," he said more softly.

Despite that they were in a full room, it felt like an intensely private moment. Tony didn't like not knowing things, but he found himself believing what he heard. This wasn't something he needed to know.

He'd still find out later.

The conversation quickly shifted gears. Since he was the only one proven to be able to resist Amora's powers, Steve was sent in with Thor to fetch her and her henchman from their cells in preparation for them to be sent to Asgard. They would face trial there, Thor asserted, with a look at Fury that dared him to argue.

"They're your citizens," Fury said, "but anybody else from your realm tries this kind of thing, and we're dealing with them down here." Third time's the charm, indeed.

The Avengers were dismissed and Tony found himself pondering a horrible and fascinating idea. He had been curious about some things Steve said or did for a very long time. The restraint he showed in not snooping in his stuff over a year ago was unparalleled.

That was over as soon as Tony could get away with it.


	14. Betrayal is in the Eyes of the Beholder

Not even gonna try making any excuses here. I got a job, it ran me into the ground, and I just now am getting around to uploading the one chapter I'd written before this mess began. Hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of things next month, since I'm quitting, but no promises.

Thank all of you for your devotion to this little pet project The scope of it is completely overwhelming, coming back to it. I don't know how the hell I got this far. Just for getting this far, you all deserve kudos. Extra thanks to **Zenoneel-Sarior** , **Kae Richa** , **Pickled Cucumbers** , **BeautifulTyrant77** , **Pickles** , and **3 Guests**. You're amazing.

Oh, and there's a little smut in here but nothing descriptive and there are no visuals. It's not really even that smutty. Just enough to skirt the ratings line and feel a need to warn you all about.

 **Disclaimer:** Still don't own anything.

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Betrayal is in the Eyes of the Beholder**

" _I don't want to be a man," said Jace. "I want to be an angst-ridden teenager who can't confront his own inner demons and takes it out verbally on other people instead."_

 _"Well," said Luke, "you're doing a fantastic job."_

― _Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes_

It felt wrong to invade Steve's room like this. The little voice in the back of Tony's mind was stifled, just like every other time in his life that it popped up.

The room was furnished according to what Tony knew of Steve's tastes. The furniture was antique, solid mahogany from the thirties, a large bed and wide dresser without a mirror because he didn't like to see his own reflection very often. The walls had been painted light green with vine patterns, and the textiles were a few shades darker. It was about as non-military, un-patriotic as possible without being all rainbows and peace signs.

The bareness of the large room left very few places to hide things, Tony thought gratefully. He didn't have much time, so he immediately got to work.

There was nothing interesting in the drawers, besides discovering that Steve was a boxers kinda guy. And a pair of star-spangled pair of skivvies that gave him terrible ideas. The closet was similarly barren of anything secretive, just shirts and an accordion file with his old documents- birth certificate, enlistment papers, that sort of thing.

Although, he saw when he got to the sections labeled 1943, 1944, and 1945, there were some others mixed in. There were bills for two memorial events and other associated paperwork. Tony took pictures of everything in there and carefully put them back in order. Getting the file back up onto the shelf it had been stored on required him to get on his toes, and even then it was a near thing. Through the grating, Tony adjusted it until it looked like it was in the same place as before.

A look at his phone showed that he only had twenty minutes left. This could be tight. The last spot Tony could think of for anything bigger than an envelope was under the neatly made bed. He'd have to come back later for those small spots, he acknowledged, as he knelt on the rug.

Jackpot! Three metal footlockers rested in a row, with a military rucksack beside them that Steve often took on longer missions. The bag proved to be empty, so Tony pulled out the box beside it.

This one was labeled "Rogers, Steven G. Howling Commandos." It was his personal footlocker from the war. The hinges screeched when they opened, and Tony flinched and automatically looked at the door to see if someone had heard.

When Steve didn't burst in with the famous "Captain America does not approve of your life choices" glare and a speech about privacy, Tony relaxed a little and looked through the contents. Everything was covered in dust, from the spare uniform (dear lord, he wished Steve would wear this just once) to a pair of standard combats to… women's hair supplies? A pile of little boxes all proved to be medals from five different countries. There was nothing suspicious in here, so Tony put it all back how it was and closed the locker again.

This one was traded in for the next over. It belonged to "Barnes, James B. Howling Commandos." This was Bucky's. If he had a deal with Starosta, maybe there was something more about it in here.

The contents were much the same, minus the hair supplies: an extra uniform of the kind he used with the Howling Commandos, a set of combats, one of dress greens, and some paperwork. Several small boxes held medals, including the first Barnes Cross ever made. A set of tools and a dog eared copy of the Hunchback of Notre Dame were jammed in on the side. Nothing particularly interesting or unexpected was in here. The box was closed with a high pitched whine of the hinges.

The last footlocker was stamped with, "Starosta, Anthony E. Howling Commandos." Tony's hands shook with the adrenaline coursing through him. Finally, he might get something concrete.

Just the idea of who this was made even the clothing interesting. Tony got the macabre urge to try on the dead man's olive green jacket, covered in pockets that were filled with miscellaneous debris, but restrained himself. That would just be weird. A pair of camo pants, a tan t-shirt, and an olive colored button down went along with it. The rank insignia on the combats showed that back then he was a First Lieutenant.

The only paperwork in here was the army contract and enlistment forms he had signed. The signature was like a punch in the gut. It was almost the same as his, just a different surname. Tony took a picture of it, just to be thorough.

It was only as he was putting the thin file back that he noticed a battered leather bound book had fallen from against the side of the box. The edges were frayed and paper water stained, and the whole thing was filthy. Flipping through it provided more examples of his own handwriting, just a few lines in each section. Bingo!

What was really interesting, Tony thought when he tried to put everything as it was when he opened it, was that something was missing. A rectangular package had been wrapped in the clothing before being removed. Only the empty space had been left and it was damn near impossible to recreate that. What had Spangles taken out of his dead boyfriend's locker and not returned?

"Captain Rogers has arrived on the floor," JARVIS announced. There was a distinctive disapproval in the AI's voice.

"Shit," Tony muttered. He closed the locker quickly and pushed it back under the bed. There was no time to take photos. He would have to just take the journal with him.

"You may wish to hide, sir," JARVIS advised.

Immediately Tony rolled under the bed. All he could do was hope that Steve didn't go for any of the lockers poking him in the side. He breathed as shallowly as he could, as the door opened.

Large black boots and the hems of olive drab pants entered his field of vision. The boots and socks were removed with a sigh of relief. They were tossed into a pile by the door.

Tony nearly fucking choked when he heard a zipper come undone. Oh no. Oh yes.

The pants dropped into a pile almost right in front of his face. Red plaid boxers followed.

There was a slight squeak as Steve climbed into bed. Naked. And nearly on top of where Tony laid, just with bed slats, a mattress, and sheets between them.

Being terrified and aroused at once was one of the strangest things that he had ever experienced. Not even panic at the idea of being caught here was able to keep him from popping a boner. Traitorous body, Tony mentally accused.

Then it got worse.

There were noises of skin against skin and something wet sliding between the two. Breathing that was almost always perfectly even was getting rougher. A little whine choked its way up a perfect throat.

Oh.

My.

Chuck.

The record for the most perverted thing Tony had ever done was officially broken. He was hiding under Captain America's bed, in front of his dead boyfriend's locker, after stealing that same dead man's diary, listening to him masturbate. And trying to keep from rutting against the floor as he did.

In that, Tony failed. The sounds and mental images were too much. Now this would be awkward to explain if he was caught.

"Tony…"

The inventor froze with his hand about to creep down his pants. Shit. There went any semblance of normalcy.

"Tony… oh God, Tony…" His name came on another moan. It was breathy and strained and utterly sinful. Tony wanted to kiss it right off his lips.

It was really too bad that Steve turned him down, he thought. Trying to not be bitter about it was an attempt doomed to failure. He totally was.

Even as the mattress began to shift and the slats squeak, Tony wondered what he had done to deserve this hell. Had he been some kind of shadow assassin in a past life or something? He wouldn't be surprised.

Now he was caught between terror, bitterness, and overwhelming arousal. It was the weirdest damn combination of emotions that Tony had ever felt.

For once, he wished that Steve were a little more like him. A little willingness to indulge in lying to himself would help them both out a lot. It wasn't like Tony and Starosta were that different. He wouldn't even have to learn to respond to a different name. Steve wouldn't even have to tilt his head and squint to be able to pretend.

As he listened to his name (but not) leave perfect lips like a prayer, Tony realized that he was well and truly fucked.

There was a drawn out groan, and then all sound and motion stopped. Only harsh panting filled the room from on top of the mattress. It was over.

Carefully, Tony let out a shaky breath. Despite all the mixed emotions coursing through him, he'd be using these memories in the shower for months. If Steve would just _leave_ , he could escape in order to start that new routine now.

Noises indicated that Steve was cleaning himself up. After that though, he didn't make any motion to leave. Instead he rolled over and got settled. Of all the fucking days for him to take a nap.

Tony shifted minutely so that Bucky's locker wasn't poking him in the side so much. Time to get comfortable. There was no way to leave without waking Steve, he was a notoriously light sleeper.

Except that Steve didn't sleep. His breathing went shaky and uneven, gulping down air between- oh no. This was not happening. Did he always cry after jacking off, or was Tony just special?

Not for the first time, he was glad that Steve didn't know he was there. It gave Tony the ability to decide which was less awkward: staying where he was, or trying to provide comfort. It would be more uncomfortable to keep hiding, but at the same time he was terrible at making others feel better. He would probably only make this worse.

Another sob ripped from Steve's throat and that was the last straw. No matter how bad Tony was at making people feel better, he couldn't lay there and listen to this man in pain. He wedged the diary between Bucky's and Starosta's lockers and rolled out from under the bed.

Steve didn't look surprised to see him. Then again, he didn't look anything other than pitiful, with mussed hair, swollen eyes, and blotchy cheeks complete with tear tracks and a wobbling chin. A sniffle that sounded like it went the whole way into his chest confirmed that for all his apparent perfection, Captain America was _not_ a cute crier.

Despite all that, Tony found his heart in his throat. He could barely speak past it. "I hope you know it's illegal to make you cry," he said, almost normally.

A watery laugh sounded more like another sob. "What- what were you doing under my bed?" Steve asked through even more tears. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't stop crying if the world depended on it. When he tried to uncurl from the tight ball he had ended up in, his body moved straight back to how it was.

"If you were more up to date on memes, I would say I was hiding under your bed because I love you," Tony joked, resting his chin on the mattress just inches from Steve's face, "As it is, well… I _planned_ to play a joke on you. Grab your ankle when you weren't expecting it, that sort of thing. It looks like you got one over on me instead." The lie tasted terrible on his lips. He almost took it back.

Only another attempt at a laugh stopped him. Steve's breathing was still too fast, and the smile was replaced by panic. "I- I can't stop crying. Why can't I stop," he panted out, tears leaking down his cheeks as he gasped for breath.

This was a bad decision. As far as Tony was concerned, it was the only option. "Budge over," he ordered, and lifted the covers just enough to slide in.

It was alarming that Steve was only able to scoot a few inches. The shaking was too bad for that, and he was curled up too tightly to properly move unless he rolled.

There was enough space for Tony to not fall off the bed. That was enough. He hesitantly held up a hand, offering a touch to the hair.

It was taken gladly. This time Steve didn't close his eyes, they were wide open and staring into his as his hair was gently stroked. He threw a strong arm over the other man and pulled him closer, until they shared the same air.

Though he was surprised, Tony was grateful for it. When he had his panic attacks, just being in the same room with someone he trusted helped, but it was awkward at the same time. When he would crawl into bed with Steve, that dissipated and his panic calmed faster than ever. Being able to return the favor, as horrible as the situation was, was appreciated.

Not a word was spoken as Steve allowed himself to sob and gasp for breath and nearly hyperventilate. Despite everything he said and the way he acted in front of everyone- including Tony- he was just as broken on the inside as the rest of them. Maybe even more. He was just too good at hiding behind his perfect smiles and introverted nature for anyone to see.

It made Tony feel like a terrible friend that he hadn't noticed it. He had been too busy with his own problems and traumas to even think of anyone else's suffering. All he could do now was hold Steve's cold body, even colder than he remembered, and hope that his presence was of some comfort. Panic attacks are hard at best, and the first is worst of all.

Slowly, Steve's breath evened out. It took some time, but he was able to uncurl enough to plaster himself to Tony from head to toe, sobbing into the pillow. The whole time, he clutched the inventor like a lifeline. He probably felt like it was a life or death situation.

Almost as soon as the panic attack died down, Steve was asleep. Even then he kept his hold on the other man's shoulders, unwilling to let go.

This time, Tony knew that if he tried slipping away, he wouldn't be able to. When he tested the strength of the grip on him, he wasn't able to move an inch. Good thing he was comfortable where he was. Even with someone breathing on his face.

It took some acrobatics, but he managed to get his phone from his pocket and to an angle where he could see what time it was. The screen read 8:14 PM. Even Cap's panic attacks were super sized, Tony thought; it had started about two hours ago. If his eyes weren't sore tomorrow, it would be a miracle.

Despite himself, eventually Tony's eyes got heavy. It wouldn't hurt to have a nap… He was stuck here anyways…

Neither woke up until the next morning.

Unsurprisingly, Tony was up first. After the events of the night before, he wouldn't blame Cap for sleeping until noon. It wasn't how the other man did things, but if he decided to take this one day, it would probably be good for him.

At least the hold Steve had on him was looser. Enough to slip away without waking him.

It felt like an even worse violation now to take the journal than it had last night. If he didn't though, he'd regret it for a long time. Tony knelt down and pulled the leather bound book free of its hiding place before he scooted out the door.

With each step, the book felt heavier. By the time he got to the lab, it was heavy enough in his hand that Tony was surprised it didn't wreck the table he set it on. "JARVIS, blackout protocol," he called.

The glass walls of the lab darkened. Even if someone had been able to get through the safety doors on the stairwell or reprogram the elevator to come down here again, they wouldn't be able to see anything. Only the override codes still worked, but Rhodey and Pepper weren't due here for a while and Steve was still out cold.

The diary seemed to almost stare back at him. Tony wanted to throw it back in the locker. "You don't get to judge me," he told it.

A little voice in the back of his head said that he was finally losing it.

His fingers moved to the leather straps tying it shut. They were barely doing their job, frayed to kingdom come.

It would just take a slight nudge to open it…

The Avengers alarm went off.

Tony muttered an angry four letter word and shoved the journal into a lockable drawer. He went for the suit. "What's the sitch, Jay?" he asked as it was assembled around him.

"It appears to be murderous laser otters in Manhattan, sir," JARVIS answered serenely.

Because of course it was.

* * *

"Why did no one tell me they also flew?!" Tony screeched as he was tailed by several otters. Unlike the chitauri, these things _could_ bank worth a damn. The same body design that allowed them to glide gracefully through the water also gave them a smooth ride in the air, making them extraordinarily fast.

"We didn't know until they started chasing you!" Clint explained over the comms. In light of the villain of the week having lasers and the ability to fly, he, Nat, and Steve were evacuating civilians from the upper levels of buildings in the area. It was the best way to keep them from getting killed.

The Hulk and Thor were having a grand time smashing them around. They appeared to be testing their speeds with this one, and neither of them were lacking in that. Occasionally Thor would summon some lightning to take care of a group, but generally they both just hit the weird experimental animals.

Tony was having a little harder of a time. He didn't have godly reflexes and wasn't invulnerable. That left him to dodge the lasers and have little time to aim. A targeting supercomputer only went so far against their fastest enemies to date.

It was proven when there was a lurch and only his left side was supporting him anymore. The HUD read out, 'right thruster, compromised'. They'd grounded Iron Man.

"Guys, I'm stuck on street level. One of the boots is fried," Tony reported. Wobbly, he tried to not just throw himself at the ground and keep from getting struck again at the same time.

"From what I know about the suit, it looks like your best option is to corner yourself. I'll be down to watch your six o'clock as soon as I finish with this building," Steve returned. He let out a grunt of effort, probably ramming something with his shield.

Relief flowed through Tony even as he cut power to the boosters. They wouldn't do anything for him now. "Roger that," he said, even as he took out a few otters who had spotted him. How many of these things were there?

For nearly half an hour, Tony kept his back to a wall and shot any otters he could. That wasn't too many, since he was stationary. All the while he made mental notes about how to improve the ground speed on the next suit. This was ridiculous.

"Cap!"

"Shit, where's Thor?!"

The exclamations of alarm drew Tony's attention immediately. There were no otters near at the moment, so he felt fine turning to look at the building he last saw Steve in. His stomach dropped out when he saw a speck of red, white, and blue falling from near the top.

Despite that one of his thrusters was out, Tony ordered the other to get powered up. Like hell he was going to just stand there.

"JARVIS, I need the Mark 42R, now," Steve ordered calmly over the comms.

Panicked, Tony blurted out, "I'm only on 29!" Figuring out how to balance on only one thruster, his repulsors and back jets wasted precious seconds.

Gleaming gold and hot rod red sped past. Just shy of the ground it attached itself to Steve's ankles and wrists, expanding and writhing up his perfect form until he blasted himself upward. "Let's finish this," he said. The voice filters made him sound tinny. They made him sound just like Iron Man.

In awe, Tony watched as Captain America piloted an Iron Man suit he didn't remember creating. The outside was generally the same as ever, but the shins and other easily damaged parts were made of something silvery. Was that steel? It had to be.

The battle was over quickly after that. Using an Iron Man suit seemed to be instinctive for Steve, and he used every weapon it had to get rid of the menace quickly. Bombs, mini missiles, repulsors, the suit's enormous strength… It was beautiful and deadly.

Even as Tony focused on defending himself, he couldn't help listening in awe to the metallized voice issuing orders. "Iron Man, you still holding out fine?" Steve asked out of nowhere.

"Yeah. Let's get this done and over with," Tony said tersely. This was ridiculous. He had only made twenty nine suits. So how was there a Mk 42R in existence? And how didn't he know about it? A spark of hurt flew through him that JARVIS hadn't told him about it, when Steve didn't say anything.

The last of the enemy fell to Natasha, who had come to collect the shield. When the Mk 42R came, Steve had dropped it in favor of the armor. As she used it to whack the last of the otters unconscious, she looked impressed at the lightness and handling.

"This battle was most strange and exhilarating," Thor commented when he landed. Due to his habit of channeling lightning so close to his body, he didn't wear a comms unit. So he was a bit surprised when a second Iron Man suit landed beside the one he was familiar with.

"Yeah, I think you could call it… otter insanity," Clint joked.

Seemingly forgetting he was in the suit, Steve face palmed a little too hard. "Okay, getting out of here," he said. The front split open and Steve stepped out of it none the worse for wear, despite a bad case of helmet hair. He looked a little dazed and had to blink in the sunlight.

"What was that?" Tony hissed. Now that he knew Steve was fine, he was starting to get angry. This was too much for him to handle. First he knew things he had no business knowing, then the secrets about Starosta, and now an Iron Man armor that Tony didn't make.

That Steve had another set of armor made by an outside source... That he had taken designs Tony _trusted him with_ and let someone else have at it and _gave his secrets away_... It burned.

"Iron Man…" Steve's voice was pleading and he reached out.

Tony took a few steps back. "I need to report to Mr Stark," he said abruptly, and used his single thruster to take off. For once, he was grateful that the world didn't know who Iron Man was. It let him hide his feelings just long enough to get away.

Once in the lab, Tony stripped down to his regular clothes. "JARVIS, tell me everything you know about the Mk 42R," he snapped. Unable to sit down, he started pacing.

The damn thing arrived back right then and was absorbed into the Tower's machinery without fuss or fanfare.

Immediately JARVIS began spouting technical facts. They were ignored for the moment. "Not what I mean, Jay. What are the logs like?" he asked crossly.

"The Mk 42R was introduced to the system on April 24, 2011 by Captain Rogers. He asked how to repair and recharge it without your knowledge, so I gave him instruction," JARVIS reported with perplexity in his voice, "How he got a hold of a suit that you have not yet made, with my own coding, I believe is best left a mystery at this time." Traitor.

"Cut the crap and tell me," Tony ordered aggressively. He wasn't putting up with this any longer. Not from Steve, and not from his AI.

"There is no precedent for what happened to Captain Rogers and the Mk 42R. It is impossible to verify what actually happened, as the circuits had been fried and little data could be obtained from them," JARVIS said in a non-answer, "The little information available is being posted on-screen."

When Tony took a look, there were only scattered bits of data. A few temperature readings, some still frames, a little audio, and one bit of video. "Play the clip," he ordered.

It was ten seconds long, but that was just enough to see what the pilot did. That was only a grainy shot of an alley. A dark figure stood in it, dim light bouncing off metal on his left arm. A snarl from behind the voice filters of the Iron Man armor, "You tried to kill the Cap. You nearly succeeded. Why wouldn't I," static interrupted, "kill you after that?" Whoever was in there, they were furious.

As the video ended with the dark figure's head tilting to the side, Tony was left knowing less than he did before this started. "Is there a date stamp on it?" he asked.

"I was only able to get that it was the eighteenth of a month, sir," JARVIS reported apologetically.

That wasn't much help. "Someone tried to kill Steve when I wasn't looking, someone else tried to get revenge, and this was all somehow in a suit that I never made but is right here," he summarized, "And Steve had it for who knows how long before then." It was more insane than the rest of his life and that was saying something.

"Correct, sir," JARVIS agreed.

"You said the circuits were fried. What kind of damage are we looking at?" Tony asked. If he could figure out what caused it, maybe he could recover some data. Anything would be helpful.

The reply was hesitant. "There was a great deal of dust and dirt, sir," JARVIS said diplomatically.

Tony frowned. "Dust…" he mumbled to himself.

Who would enter right then other than the last person he wanted to see? Still in his Captain America uniform, Steve Rogers carried the helmet under his arm and the shield on his back. Far from looking like the world's first superhero however, he shuffled forward and kept his head down. It was only when he was a few feet away that he looked directly at Tony. The pleading in those blue eyes made Tony feel physically sick.

"Well if it isn't the Star Spangled Liar," Tony bit out. Ordinarily he would have started flitting about by now in an attempt to minimize his discomfort and gain some space. That wasn't an option this time.

"I never lied to you about the suit," Steve tried to reassure him. He reached out.

The hand was slapped away in anger. "You sure haven't been telling me the truth!" Tony shouted. He couldn't help his shaking, exhausted and enraged in equal measure.

"I wanted to tell you everything," Steve said, but the desperate longing in his voice wasn't working. It just made the inventor angrier this time.

"Then why didn't you?" Tony snapped.

Steve looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up.

In a moment that would have been totally in character when talking to anyone else, Tony decided to play with his food. "Actually, forget that. We can come back to that later. How about you start telling me now? Specifically about the suit and who made it?" he asked, faux friendly, "Because I certainly didn't."

The expression only got worse. Now Steve looked like he wished someone would just shoot him.

If Tony didn't want answers so badly, he would have been willing to oblige.

"I _can't_ tell you," Steve answered. He looked like he was trying to pass a gall stone.

Normally Tony would have been willing to believe him, or at least hope that it was the truth while he dug for answers. But in the past year, the world had stopped making sense. Steve had kept too much from him to be believed now. Not with this betrayal.

A hand reached out again, probably to keep Tony from backing away. It was dodged in favor of putting a workbench between them. Critically, the suits were on the same side of the table as Tony. If he needed to fight his way out, he could.

"Tony, please. If it was an option, I would have told you before. I'd tell you now. But I can't. Please believe me," Steve was practically begging.

Tony made a beeping noise. "Wrong answer," he said darkly.

"What can I do to salvage this?" Steve asked. He looked dead serious.

"There's nothing you can do, since you _can't_ tell me anything," Tony sneered mockingly, "This... whatever we had is over. I can't trust you anymore. I never could. I was an idiot for thinking I could because you were _Captain fucking America_ and I was in love with you." The words forced their way out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

White faced, Steve froze. "Tony…" he whispered.

Then the inventor realized what he had blurted out. "JARVIS," he ordered sharply.

The Mk 28 suit zoomed out of hiding and closed around Tony. They were gone, out a hidden hatch, within seconds.

He just missed Steve whispering to the empty air, "If I didn't love you so much, I wouldn't be doing this."


	15. Mister Lonely

So, I'm not even going to try making an excuse for my absence. I got into other fandoms, fell off the bandwagon, and have been working on original projects rather than fanfic. That's about it. But here I am with something new!

This isn't anything special. It feels like filler to me, despite that it covers the entire Winter Soldier movie. But it's some kind of update and I'm still struggling, so I hope that the effort is appreciated.

Many, many thanks to **Stelra Etnae** , **Cyanide Peppermint** , **jayley** , **love toshiro dragon** , **Zenoneel-Sarior** , **richbecky213** , **jeanette9a** , **Princess Hinata Bug** , **BookWormmy** , and a **Guest** for your lovely reviews! Not to mention your patience and continued love for this. It's one of the many reasons I want to finally finish this. The other one is that my husband (as of December) has been getting on me about finishing one project before starting another.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own anything under copyright.

* * *

 **Chapter 15: Mister Lonely**

" _Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."_

― _Kahlil Gibran_

The confrontation went down in Avengers history, if for no other reason than that no one knew exactly what happened. They all had their ideas, mostly accurate, but they all knew better than to ask.

Instead everyone went their own ways for the moment. The universal threats were giving them a break, so it was time to take a vacation while they could. Or at least most of the team. Bruce went to Hawaii for a week to relax, and then the Pacific Islands to continue his medical work. Thor happily sped off to New Mexico to spend some time with his beloved. Barton went somewhere in Upstate New York but no one really got any answers about what he was doing.

Steve never asked what Tony was up to, but when he asked JARVIS if the other man was alright, he was told that Malibu was treating him well. If the AI seemed sadder, and colder, than before, Steve didn't say anything. "Thanks, JARVIS. Keep looking after him," he said with a sad little smile.

"Of course, Captain," JARVIS told him, "Care for yourself as well. Despite your disagreement, Sir would be upset if anything happened to you." The thought was heartwarming.

Despite that, Steve couldn't bring himself to hope. "I'll be fine. SHIELD's got me," he said instead.

"I suspect that's one of the things that Sir worries about," JARVIS replied dryly.

It made Steve smile, one of the first things that had recently. "If he wants to know, or if you or Pepper need anything, I'll be in DC," he told the AI, "Bye, JARVIS." It was the last call he had with anyone associated with Tony, for months.

He didn't even know about the Mandarin targeting Tony until after it happened; he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, Siberia for the whole month it was going on. Afterward Steve left a very angry voicemail with JARVIS. He never got a call back.

There was training with SHIELD, finding new places to people watch and new people to meet, and the occasional mission with Natasha. She was the only one he had seen since they all left the tower. They went to bars and big events together when one looked interesting. When she saw his, to him, perfectly normal apartment she even dragged him to the biggest furniture store he had ever seen and picked out his housewares.

It was a little awkward to have to explain that no, they weren't that kind of together. And no, they weren't roommates. She was just his interfering coworker who breaks into his house and eats his food. A blank look and even more awkward quiet came after that.

The anniversary of the 107th being captured came around in October and for the first time, Steve felt okay to go to the memorial. He wasn't on a mission somewhere, or saving the world from robotic octopi or whatever this week's threat was. It was time.

Except that when he got there, several barricades had been put up saying that all national parks were closed. The signs were a big old kick in the balls, a denial that felt personal despite that it resulted from a government closure. Which in itself felt ridiculous, but Steve wasn't about to get into that one when he saw an opportunity.

While guards that weren't there yesterday were distracted, a crowd of wheelchair bound veterans and their companions were pushing at the barricades. Technically it was against the rules but it was the right thing to do. Luckily for Steve, that was his specialty.

He darted through the swarm of wheelchairs and past suited people talking to guards. At the metal fencing, he partially lifted one side of one and turned it parallel like a gate opening. Another barricade was turned by a few people to add more space.

There was a loud, hoarse cheer, and the veterans flooded in. They were wheeled to the walls of bas relief carvings, looking at the central fountain, touching the pillar that represented the state they came from. The quiet awe and pride sent a warm feeling through Steve's chest. Whenever his guts clenched at the images portrayed on the walls, he looked at everyone around him and smiled, allowed their feelings to permeate his own.

Upon reaching the pillar that represented the soldiers from New York, Steve couldn't help laying a hand on it. The stone was cool and smooth despite the sun. He knew it was his imagination, but he could feel the presence of the others who came from his home, smiles and wiseass jokes and claps to the back.

He could almost hear Bucky laugh and hear the whirring of the arc reactor.

With a shake of his head, Steve straightened up from where he had bowed his head. A last little pat to the stone had him release it.

"Um, excuse me, sir?" a girl asked him. She stared up at him with big blue eyes, made even bigger by her glasses, smiling nervously.

"What can I do for you?" Steve replied. He fully expected to be told that only the veterans were allowed in here right now and be asked to leave.

Instead, the girl requested haltingly, "I saw you, you know, leaning there, and, sorry, but it was such a perfect shot, I had to take a picture. So, um, do you mind if I keep it, or do you want me to delete it or something?" She looked like she expected to be told off at any minute. A thumb hovered over a few dots in the corner of her screen as she showed him the picture.

It was a good photo, Steve had to agree on that much. The sun bounced off his hair pleasingly and painted the back of his leather jacket an almost matching warm gold. His face was hidden by a thick arm. A strong figure, bowed before a pillar of stone with the weight of the world on his shoulders. There was emotion in that image and he found himself entranced by it. "Can I get a copy?" he asked instead.

Amazed, the girl nodded furiously. "What's your number? I'll send it in a text," she offered.

They walked away a few minutes later after an agreement for her to delete the message from her phone, but keep the picture. It wasn't like anyone but those he knew best would be able to recognize him from it anyways.

That done, Steve wandered to the plaque and the wall of stars. From there he went to the fountain, and then the wall representing the Pacific. The scenes of getting exams and taking their oaths of service and then burying the dead, or fighting, brought back memories despite that it was a different theater.

Then he saw the homecoming scene and froze. His mind went back decades, to plans of buying that old building and being the fun uncles to Howard's and Peggy's kids and getting old together. More images followed.

Tony and Bucky, laughing and allowing the dames to kiss them in thanks the moment they were off the gangplank in New York Harbor. Getting a two bedroom apartment with a view of the sea, and Tony rebuilding every appliance in the apartment while Steve drew and Bucky handed him tools. Standing beside Bucky at his wedding a few years later, watching him glow like a beacon as the preacher pronounced that he could kiss the bride. Children and anniversaries and eventually dancing together in public when they were finally allowed to even though their joints were stiff with age and hard wear by then. Never having to live without the people he loved the most.

Except that never happened. Even though he could practically see Bucky eating a damn ham sandwich, and feel Tony's hand in his, it was all a figment of his imagination. And it never could happen.

Before anyone could approach him, Steve hurried out the Atlantic arch.

He didn't go back to the memorial that year.

Instead he visited Peggy in the nursing home, did missions with Natasha, and had to learn how to function on his own in this modern world. It was harder than people made it look. Not just because of all the new technology and inventions, but because everything changed so fast.

It was no surprise that depression and anxiety were such common problems today, Steve thought with a grimace as he looked in the paper one day. There were articles about campus shooters and rape in the military right next to each other. The numbers were staggering for both of them.

But despite how he did it with gritted teeth and more hours at work than strictly necessary, he did it.

Then the Lumerian Star happened.

Everything went downhill after that.

* * *

Tony tried everything he could think of. He redecorated Steve's room (no, the _guest room_ , dammit) and rearranged the furniture and even tried taking down the paintings from Christmas and the auction. Not a single damn thing he did helped.

He still wasn't anywhere near over the world's first superhero.

If pissed him off like nothing else had this side of Coulson's near death experience. Admittedly that may have been part of what caused his challenge to the Mandarin and everything associated; he needed to vent his anger at someone, and his friends weren't having it. Though they didn't like him making himself a target and nearly dying either.

Probably the worst part of it was that when Steve left him a voicemail afterward, Tony couldn't stop himself from listening to it. Anger came through loud and clear. Then he realized it was worry he heard in the pauses and stuttering, and hung up like the phone burned him.

So Tony tinkered. He ignored Pepper's attempts to reason with him, and Rhodey's eventual interference, and JARVIS's weekly reports on the team's well being. All he could do was invent and improve and pray to a god he didn't believe in that he'd get over the Star Spangled Man With a Plan.

Destroying the Iron Man suits was a mistake. One Tony dearly regretted and he began rebuilding immediately, no matter what he had promised Pepper afterward. His rescinding that did nothing to help the tension that had plagued them since he came back to California and wouldn't say why, but he kept himself too busy to feel guilty.

He also tried to not think about how he blurted out that he loved Steve. Tony had berated himself over and over for it, the stupidity of not just letting his heart be burrowed into but admitting it right then. It was the worst possible time he could have said anything.

Just thinking that he would have done nearly _anything_ Steve asked, and done it happily, made Tony grind his teeth together. Before the Incident, there had even been a suit he did make for Steve. The most precious gift he had ever given anyone.

And now here he was, all that effort and feeling and hope dumped into a black hole. It felt like _he_ was getting sucked into a black hole.

Around the end of March, 2013 Tony decided that his normal projects weren't keeping him busy enough and it was time to start digging through the SHIELD files he'd gotten after the aliens in Manhattan thing. He was still able to have nightmares about Barnes pulling the arc reactor from his chest and Steve smiling. There wasn't a single thought about actually dealing with it; Tony wasn't very good at that. Instead he ignored his problems and kept working and started looking through those files.

Some of what he'd gathered up was more interesting than other bits. The Budapest file was more enlightening than Tony would ever admit to and he set it aside to examine further when he was through the entire pile of information. Folder by folder, he worked his way through mission reports and operations parameters and even the fucking budget the whole way back to what they had digitized of the late 1940's.

By the first of April, Tony was faced with a choice between the two folders left. The old SSR files from World War II, including the Howling Commandos files, or a mysterious one with a nonsense name that according to JARVIS had been on an ultra-secure, very well hidden sub-server. In an effort to avoid the emotions that would come with the SSR files, he opened the other.

Files from Operation Paperclip regarding only former HYDRA, those of more recent operatives, and even modern day ones. Including every single STRIKE team member that Tony had ever seen. It would have looked like ordinary personnel profiles, except that other sub-folders provided awful context.

There were more missions and schematics and science, but nothing that SHIELD would ever have approved on their worst days. Everything in here was brutal. There was even an entire system for organizing all the assassinations, generally on public figures that were considered peaceful and powerful.

The more Tony read, the more horrified he became. It shouldn't have been nearly so much of a surprise as it was to realize what he was looking at. These weren't SHIELD files.

They were HYDRA.

Blinking, Tony had to take a moment to reconcile what he knew with what he was seeing. All his life he had known that when Cap went into the ice, he had done it to bring down HYDRA's last threat to the world. In front of him was evidence that evil had not only endured but infiltrated the very organization that had been made to fight it.

"Sir, there is something that you may wish to see." JARVIS interrupted his stunned disbelief.

"Go ahead, Jay," Tony ordered. He shook his head and tried to pull his head back into the game.

A report flashed on a separate screen. It was Nick Fury's profile, highly redacted and complete with a picture of him glaring at the camera. Across the page was a red stamp: DECEASED.

The breath left Tony's lungs in a rush. While he and Fury didn't have the best relationship, he recognized that the other man was possibly the best director SHIELD had been blessed with since Aunt Peggy retired. "Show me the report," he ordered.

It was a mess. An assault earlier that day was mentioned, but not in detail, and Tony had his AI dig into that while he read the rest. The description was short: he had been sitting in Steve Rogers's apartment in DC when somebody shot him through a damn wall. Only Steve's and an Agent Sharon Carter's testimonies made it more than a page long. Somebody didn't want this to be looked into.

When Tony looked at the previous attack, he found what looked like a routine cop chase. Except that cops didn't carry automatic weapons or attack SHIELD's armored vehicles. They gave a good try, but there was no way they'd get Fury, he was too good-

A figure with some kind of large gun waded into the center of the street, but the camera catching this part of the chase faced his back. There was an explosion under the SUV and he stepped aside right in time to avoid being crushed by the overturned vehicle. Smoke poured out but he was unfazed as he walked calmly forward.

"Holy shit," Tony let out when he saw the man rip off the SUV door. After that an unmarked black van hustled him away, and that was it.

Combined with the HYDRA files he just saw, he was sure he knew what was happening. This was evil rearing its ugly head again after decades of being buried. And there was no one he knew he could trust that could be found or contacted. Thor was on Asgard, Bruce was in Bumfuck Nowhere, Clint was impossible to reach, and Natasha and Steve were off the grid.

That Steve was involved in this was suspicious in itself, combined with the knowledge of a cover up from way back when. But his file hadn't been included in the HYDRA folder, so…

There was a last sub-folder to dig through, labeled Zimniy Soldat. When translated, it read Winter Soldier. It was Tony's last hope to not find Steve in here, and that made opening it more difficult.

Thankfully there was no Captain America. Instead he got weird shit about cryo-freeze, a mechanical arm, and mind wiping. Then a list of assassinations spanning from when he got these files the whole way back to 1950. There were over two hundred successful ones, and two unsuccessful: Howard Stark in 1956 and Peggy Carter in 1961.

According to the report it had been pure luck that his dad ducked down for a bottle of beer at the right time. The idea that if things had gone any other way, Tony wouldn't exist was unsettling.

Then he read fully through the list of successful kills, and felt his blood pressure drop dangerously. Near the middle of the list were his parents. Their deaths hadn't been an accident like he had believed for nearly thirty years and he didn't know what to do with that information.

So he went to the next page on the file and was faced with a picture that made him gag. It had no gore or anything else that would normally cause that reaction. No, it was the person in the picture that made him nearly lose his coffee, which was taken through a viewing slot in what must have been the cryo-freeze chamber.

James Barnes. The man whose face he had seen over and over in his nightmares. The Winter Soldier.

It made a startling amount of sense, Tony thought vaguely as he read through some medical charts. The guy was an expert marksman and already highly effective, of course HYDRA would want to recruit him. But the presence of mind-wiping and cryo-freeze in the dossier made him feel uneasy. That wasn't something done to dedicated, willing agents.

"Another alert, sir," JARVIS called out.

This time Tony's jaw dropped. It was from SHIELD, detailing Captain America as a fugitive. His face was all over the internet and tv with a special hotline for anyone who sees him, saying that he was suspected to be involved with the death of Nick Fury.

That more than anything amped up Tony's need to sort out this whole HYDRA-SHIELD mess. If Cap had anything to do with that, he'd drink one of Dummy's concoctions. "JARVIS, when's the new suit going to be ready?" he barked, standing up to pace. He was restless with the need to do _something_ but there was nothing he could do without the suit.

Except maybe dump the HYDRA file on the internet, but he'd have to think on that option a little more carefully.

"It will be approximately four more days before the Mk 43 is ready for testing, sir," JARVIS reported apologetically.

Tony swore colorfully. That wasn't nearly as soon as he needed. "Are there any little things we can cut out to speed that up? Don't need the spinning rims," he said, trying to remember everything he'd put in.

"Nothing that would not require more time to calibrate for its absence," JARVIS answered. It was the exact opposite of what Tony wanted to hear.

When he collapsed into his chair, he cradled his head in his hands. Dammit, why had he destroyed his suits?! Of course he would need them right when he didn't have them.

Then Tony went through the list of things he did have, and he smiled. He couldn't do anything to help Steve on the ground, and he didn't have anyone to give the information to that could do anything with it. But he did have his brains and the perfect target to use them on.

The few times anyone called the number to report sightings of Steve, or Natasha, Tony noted without surprise, the data was hijacked and the data muddled by JARVIS. Social media was exploding with support for Captain America and doubt that he could have done such a thing, and he stirred it up with his own doubts and hints. There were speeches trying to justify the manhunt and others demanding an open investigation into the manhunt. It was chaos.

Luckily, Tony worked well with chaos. He took glee in muddling the waters as best he could, using every tool in his arsenal to provide doubt in Steve and Natasha's favor. And if that included throwing in a mention of HYDRA every now and then, well who could blame him?

For two days that went on, even after Steve, Natasha and some guy identified as Sam Wilson were captured at gunpoint. Thank Thor for news choppers, Tony found himself thinking as one of the STRIKE team members lowered another's gun after a glance up at one. It was the only reason they lived long enough to escape from custody again.

After that fight the pictures of Barnes's face and his assault of Captain America went viral. It was an opportunity to stir things up even more, and Tony spilled some of the information he had about mind-wiping onto Tumblr, various blogs, and a Wiki. Chaos could only help Steve at the moment and that was what the goal was.

Whenever Tony passed out or went for more coffee, JARVIS took over. Otherwise he was emailing, Tweeting, and otherwise getting in touch with everyone he knew about what was going on. To be thorough he sent copies of the HYDRA files to Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy, and deleted any trace of sending them. Just in case somebody tried to erase the evidence he had. Not that there was a snowball's chance in hell of anyone getting past JARVIS, but this way there would also be other people with access in case something mysteriously happened to him. With HYDRA showing their hand like this and him being such a pain in their asses, nothing was guaranteed.

Others helped too. Once it came out that Steve, Natasha, and Wilson escaped, there were calls in placing them anywhere from New Mexico to Greenland. Of course some more accurate ones leaked through; it would be suspicious if the one place they were wasn't mentioned at least once. They were buried by all the false sightings, though. Between that and all the support being put up on the internet and some tv channels, there was no confusion about where the American people stood.

All the while Tony battled with his own emotions about the whole mess. Barnes killed his parents, killed his _Mom_ , but those files clearly indicated that there was some doubt whether he could be blamed. Steve was being accused of something that he clearly didn't do, and yet sometimes there was no forgetting that he was a trained stealth operative who had seen and done some real shit. He did betrayal well enough. Together they had pretty much made sure that a murdered man was forgotten about, but the full story wasn't there.

And the damn diary, the one that held all the answers to that last question, was still in New York.

Maybe those old SSR files would have something…

Tony was half way through the Project Rebirth folder when a call came in from a cell phone on the edge of DC. Hope and dread knotted in his gut as he answered. "And what can I do for you?" He tried for his usual slick snark, but he wasn't feeling it.

"Hey, Tony. I take it you've heard the news?" Steve asked quietly.

"They've probably heard it on Asgard by now." Tony snorted. "Of course I have. Who do you think has been muddling up your trail?" He started pacing again, unable to have this conversation while still.

There was a moment of stunned silence. "Thanks, I didn't expect that," Steve said.

"Hey, you may have betrayed me and all that, but what are personal issues in the face of ultimate evil, right?" Tony asked faux-lightly.

"Tony…" Steve's voice was pained now.

"No, don't get into that. Why are you calling me anyways? You're trying to hide, and this isn't the best way of doing it," Tony interrupted. He knew that Steve wasn't so great with technology's finer points yet, but Natasha should have at least warned him about this. Why wasn't she wrestling the phone away?

"This isn't the best way, but it's the only chance I'm ever going to get to say that I love you too," Steve told him, voice heavy.

Tony stood frozen, unable to do anything but listen. Those words were some that he had never thought he'd heard. That he'd wanted to hear his whole life, from this man's lips. This was the worst time imaginable for it.

The last words Steve said were, "I always have, so much that it hurts. I'm sorry for this. Goodbye, Tony." He hung up without giving a chance to reply.

For nearly three minutes, Tony stared at nothing. The words he had heard repeated themselves over and over in his brain, and despite that part of him was dancing with joy, a cold shiver went down his back.

 _I'm sorry for this. Goodbye, Tony._

"Oh hell no," Tony muttered, eyes widening, "JARVIS, where was that phone call from exactly?" He watched with horror as the map of the US was narrowed in more and more until it was focused on the Triskelion. Oh no, this was bad. This was very, very bad.

JARVIS switched to a live feed unasked. Three helicarriers emerged from under the Potomac, that Tony had helped build, and he cursed himself for it now. Without meaning to he had helped the enemy.

Then what could only be called a battle started and Tony watched with fascination. Red, white, and blue were easy to pick out on the deck of one carrier while another failed to deal with a guy with mechanical wings. There was no other support that he could see, and he wondered where Natasha was. She was still alive and fighting, right? Awe and appreciation filled Tony even as he was washed over with guilt, watching the men jump and fly from one carrier to another. They were pursued by planes, attacked by guards, and eventually even engaged by what could only be Barnes. No, not Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Barnes didn't exist anymore.

Arguably the worst part was that all Tony could do nothing but feel for a stool, sit down, and watch. He didn't have a suit and couldn't get to DC in time to make a difference even if he did.

All three helicarriers went down and Tony felt vicious satisfaction. Take that, HYDRA.

JARVIS chose to inform him then that even more information was being dumped on the internet than what he had. It was coming straight from SHIELD headquarters. Natasha, Tony thought with relief, and started collecting copies of everything.

Later that day he was told that Steve was in the hospital. He'd been beaten shot, stabbed, beaten unconscious, and nearly drowned. There was only one person who could have done that to the world's first superhero.

Despite his issues, Tony was still as hopelessly in love with Steve as ever. And that news was unbearable to hear. "JARVIS, start tracking the Winter Soldier," he ordered coolly and began tracing over maps of the area with his own eyes.

It wasn't a good idea. It was a very bad idea, in fact. But there was no way in hell that Tony was going to let the Winter Soldier get away with what he'd done.


	16. Sleeping Beauty

Hi, guys! Told you I wouldn't abandon this, but I can see why one would doubt. Late's better than never, right?

Many thanks to **Zenoneel-Sarior** , **Beautiful-Tyant77** , **Lowell the Lonely** , **richbecky213** , **lazydasy** , **slightlybookish** , **Crystalzap** , **musteteersaddict** , **evestephie** , **Myxes** , **sami1010220** , **Aurora Marie Williams** , and 3 **Guests** for your reviews on the last chapter! The response blows me away every time I think about it.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything copyrighted.

* * *

 **Chapter 16: Sleeping Beauty**

" _Never be afraid to raise your voice for honesty and truth and compassion against injustice and lying and greed. If people all over the world...would do this, it would change the earth."_

― _William Faulkner_

When Steve slowly crawled back to consciousness, he wished he hadn't. Everything hurt. Every single thing, like it hadn't since Project Rebirth.

The music was nice, a somewhat high pitched croon. He didn't know the song until he looked to see who he could hear breathing and found Sam beside his hospital bed, reading. It was probably Trouble Man, then. The situation reminded Steve of when he first woke up after being defrosted, only more painful. A lot more painful.

In an attempt to keep Sam from worrying, he made the only joke he could think of. "On your left."

This time, Sam only smiled and put his book down. "Sleeping beauty finally awakens. How you feeling?" he asked.

Despite that he knew the question was about more than his physical state, that was all Steve gave him right now. "Like I got hit with a tank, but worse," he groaned.

The evasion was obvious, but thankfully Sam didn't say anything. "You look like you got hit with a tank," he said instead, "You've been out nearly two days. It was touch and go for a while, you kept healing up before everything was in the right place. It was kind of nasty looking." He grimaced.

If Sam of all people had that look, it really must have been bad. He wasn't going there just yet, there were more important things to think about. "Bucky?" Steve asked hopefully.

"Disappeared. Not even Natasha can find him," Sam told him, shaking his head.

While Steve had privately expected that, he was still disappointed. He had been so sure that his old friend had pulled him out of the river… Was that shiny arm a hallucination? He refused to believe it. "I might have a few ideas," he replied.

It took another day for Steve to be released from the hospital. A normal man would have been stuck there for a month. He was still itching to get on his feet and go after Bucky within hours.

The first thing he did was call Tony. Or at least try, he wasn't picking up. "Hello, Captain Rogers. I apologize that Mister Stark is not available right now. Is there anything I can do for you?" the AI asked politely.

"Where's Tony? Is he alright?" Steve asked anxiously. Had HYDRA gone after him?

"Sir is stressed, but he is in as good of a physical condition as possible," JARVIS answered carefully.

"JARVIS, are you hiding something important from me?" Steve questioned sharply. Last time that happened, Tony was dying. He wasn't dealing with that before time travel took him away for the last time.

There was a short pause. "If you'll head to 20th and Greenway, I believe that Sir could use some assistance," JARVIS suddenly replied.

That was only two blocks away. Phone still held to his ear, Steve took off with his heart in his throat. "What's the situation?" he asked.

"Sir is currently in combat with the Winter Soldier and locked in a stalemate," JARVIS replied, but by then Steve was close enough to see for himself.

The Iron Man armor and a figure in black leather were fighting, punching and kicking and curiously not using their main weapons. There was no sign of repulsors or guns. Just a device on the ground that was emitting a bright blue glow.

Steve knew that glow. His memories from before the Serum were fuzzy, but that color, much like the Tesseract and the arc reactor, was branded into them. It was time, and he couldn't stand that. "Shut it down!" he shouted.

It was too late. Tony had already tackled Bucky through the disc of light.

But how did they not disappear? No, they rolled with the force of the movement until momentum ran out and stayed there in an inelegant heap. There was no sign of movement from either.

Nothing could be heard over the pounding of Steve's heart in his head. He dropped his phone in favor of rolling Tony off of Bucky and checking whether they were even alive. The light the arc reactor gave off was the first sign and made his hands tremble as he felt for Bucky's pulse and miraculously found it.

Only after he knew that they were both alive was Steve able to sit back and pant for breath. He couldn't believe it, eyes going from one to the other and back again. Was there a chance that time travel wasn't going to be the end of them?

"Captain? Are you still there?" JARVIS called from the dropped phone.

With shaking hands, Steve picked it up again. "Yeah, I'm here. They're both alive, but I'll need help to get them to the Tower," he said.

"Sending a message to Mister Wilson and Agent Romanoff now," JARVIS reported helpfully.

An unsteady laugh left Steve and he combed his free hand through his hair. "Thanks JARVIS. You're a real gem," he complimented. What Tony (and often enough the rest of them) would do without the all-seeing AI, he wasn't sure.

JARVIS's reply was expected and true: "I do my best, Captain."

Natasha got there in the next few minutes. "I can't believe It on Man was the one to find him," she commented, impressed. Without more than a glance she helped to carry Bucky to her car and strap him into the back.

"That makes one of us," Steve teased weakly.

"Barnes I can take no problem, but I don't think we'll be able to get Iron Man in without wrecking my car," Natasha said, analyzing her teammate.

"JARVIS, is there any chance you can fly Iron Man back and put him in the infirmary?" Steve requested.

"Of course, Captain," the armor said in the familiar tinny voice. It was strange watching it move and shoot off into the sky with Tony inside, yet know that Tony wasn't controlling it.

Meanwhile Natasha collected the piece of equipment that had caused this. "What do you think it is?" she asked, frowning at it. She set it in the trunk carefully.

Steve didn't answer until they were in the Tower infirmary. The Iron Man armor was parked on a reinforced bed beside Bucky, both far too still. He had pulled a chair up between them to best respond to any movement as he explained what he knew to Natasha. Sam stood by the door, having arrived not long after them.

"So you're saying that they're in 1943 but right here at the same time, because of the thing in Natasha's trunk?" Sam asked with audible disbelief.

"It looks that way," Steve confirmed, still bamboozled at their physical presence. If their bodies were here, then how were they solid back then? Maybe a copy was made or something?

"If I didn't know you so well, I'd say that you cracked," Natasha stated dryly, "The Starosta file makes a lot more sense now, though." She brought it out from a large purse and set it on a C table to be viewed by them all.

Curiosity about what information survived and the guesswork afterward had Steve look at it. He found himself impressed by the amount of truth involved, and humored by the confusion. "JARVIS, when is Bruce expected to get here?" he asked while the others continued to look it over.

"His flight arrives at eight this evening," JARVIS responded. It was a miracle that Bruce had gotten word of SHIELD going down, where he had been. The isolation made it difficult for him to get back, leaving him to arrive days after the event. Right in time for this one.

Satisfied, Steve went back to what he had been doing. Until then Bucky would be fine on his own and the suit would take care of Tony.

There was no formal call, but somehow the entire team ended up gathering at the Tower by the end of the next night. Clint came out of the woodwork without excuse or reason, and Thor chose the weirdest and most fortunate of times to reappear. That meant that they were all there for the discussion about Iron Man. Specifically, the discussion about whether they could humanely leave him in the armor.

"There's no reaching Tony, and Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes both referred me to you to get the armor off, Steve," Bruce said reluctantly.

Surprised, Steve looked at the glowing eyes of Iron Man. Of course Tony would have three different backup plans for everything. Even this, in a way. That he was still trusted with this in spite of everything that had happened lately, made a lump rise in his throat. "Nobody can tell anyone about this," he told the others sternly.

"Of course," Bruce agreed immediately. The others followed suit fast enough that Steve felt safe in their word.

He had to take a deep breath before he pulled at the correct places in the armor. First the torso pieces, then the limbs, were released to lie on the bed. The helmet was last and Steve prayed that Tony would forgive him for this.

There was silence as Steve gently pulled the helmet off, then set Tony's head down on the pillow. No one appeared to know what to say, all staring at the face that the helmet had hidden.

Clint was the first to speak. "This can't be right," he stated with disbelief. "Is this some kind of joke?" He looked to Natasha, only to find her recovering from her own shock.

"Tony has always been Iron Man," Steve explained reluctantly, returning to his chair, "He asked me not to tell, so I never did. Just helped him patch himself up and cover up." He didn't feel guilty about it, no matter what his teammates' shocked looks and reprimands.

"Now I feel bad about some of the things I've said about Tony," Clint said, frowning at the man on the bed.

In Steve's opinion, it served him right.

"This is very confusing. If you would not mind explaining, Captain, as you seem the most knowledgeable about the situation?" Thor requested grandly. He leaned on a wall, watching expectantly.

With a sigh, Steve resigned himself to it. He told the entire story, even about their relationship in the past, for the first time. The Avengers were a very good audience; they knew exactly when to gasp or laugh and always looked eager to hear more. "You know the rest. You were there for it," he finished tiredly.

It had been an hour, but no one seemed tired. If anything they were energized by what they heard, putting together pieces that they hadn't made sense before. Bright eyed and excited that everything was coming together about their team leader.

Steve looked on with fond eyes. Now that there were no more secrets, he felt lighter in a way. Not entirely, it would take Tony and Bucky waking up for that, but better. His lips tilted upward when he noticed Bruce and Natasha scribbling on a pad of paper while Sam and Clint talked.

"Somehow I do not think that this story is over," Thor mused.

The idea was absurd, but Steve felt reassured. "I hope not," he agreed quietly.

That night Bruce set up machines and tubes to properly care for Tony and Bucky's bodily functions. He then gave them all a very informative lesson about how and when to roll a comatose or unconscious person to prevent bedsores. "Always do your best to prevent them," he told them seriously, "An infected bedsore was what killed Christopher Reeve in the end. Not his broken neck." Once it got explained that he was talking about the first actor to play Superman on television, he then continued on to other small procedures that would be helpful but not too invasive for their liking. Things like joint manipulation and how to change a bed around them.

Of course there were nurses and nursing assistants on call for times that team members were injured, but it didn't feel right to leave it all up to the professionals. Bucky was an unknown factor and nobody was sure of him after what happened at SHIELD, but Tony was theirs. Someone was always in the room unless the Avengers alarm went off, both to watch over them and to make them comfortable.

Then Thor called Steve over, pointing to a cut on Tony's hand. "That was not there last night," he pointed out with concern.

Steve frowned and tilted Tony's hand this way and that, sickly relieved just to be able to hold his hand again. "I recognize this cut…" he muttered. It was fuzzy, but he remembered mother henning Tony when he got this exact injury while at work.

Before his eyes, a small burn appeared on the side of Tony's thumb. He remembered that too, the unwieldy welding torch had slipped and Tony had to scramble to catch it before it fell and broke.

"I think he's getting the injuries he had back then," Steve said, frowning. How would that even work?

"Do you think that the injuries which killed him would be included in that?" Thor asked suddenly.

That hadn't occurred to Steve until now, or he hadn't let it. "I need to talk to Bruce," he said suddenly and rocketed out of his chair, down to Bruce's lab.

The look on his face must have been terrified, because Bruce dropped what he was doing right away. "What is it?" he questioned immediately.

"What about when their past time counterparts die? Do you have any idea what'll happen?" Steve asked in a rush. If anyone outside of Tony might have that answer, it would be Bruce.

The doctor frowned with thought. "The two ideas I can come up with are that they'll either die that exact way, or that they'll wake up at that point. What happened?"

"Tony got two injuries that I recognize from back then," Steve said. Then he stopped short, realizing exactly what that meant and _oh God,_ this was going to be awful.

It was obvious when Bruce realized the same thing: he went pale under his tan and his dark eyes went wide. "Oh, oh no. The Winter Soldier experiments," he said.

Steve nodded and let out a shaky breath. It was all in his head but he felt the tingle of electricity on his skin from Howard's machine. "What do you think we can do?" he asked.

"I think the best we can do is treat whatever injuries he comes up with. This isn't like any other situation I've ever seen," Bruce said with a helpless shrug.

It wasn't a situation that _any_ of them had ever seen.

From then on the team was able to keep track of the timeline by the injuries that cropped up on Tony's body. An occasional burn, bruise, or cut would crop up and be noted down as it was treated by the doctor.

At first it was weird but no big deal. Tony's injuries were minor, mere scrapes in the course of things. Bucky got a little lean, but stayed in one piece.

And then the day of Project Rebirth came. It was so long ago and so much had happened since that Steve nearly forgot about that incident until he walked into the infirmary to find the doctors in a tizzy, shouting for bandages and liquid stitches. "What is it? What happened?" he demanded, heart rate sky rocketing as he watched from the doorway.

Oh God, blood was getting everywhere on Tony's bed and the doctors' gloves. The only reason fear didn't wash through Steve completely was because it was too early. There hadn't been a trace of the Zola's tortuous experiments yet.

"What was that?" Clint's voice was wary but not fearful as he came to stand next to Steve, beside the doorway.

For a moment Steve wracked his memory. Being interrupted by the doctor and finding out that Tony was shipping out came to mind. "Project Rebirth. I was so out of it that I didn't know he got hurt until later, going after the guy who shot the doctor." He still felt guilty about that, for so many reasons.

Clint chuckled. "Not even out of the States yet and he's already fighting. Just like Iron Man." His voice was almost fond as he watched the slowly deescalating scene.

"Just like Tony," Steve agreed softly.

They stood and watched as the doctors left with their biological material bags filled with bandages, nodding to the Avengers they passed on the way. One stopped to say, "He'll be fine if that's the extent of it for a while. But I'm sure you already knew that." Her dark eyes crinkled in a smile up at them.

Steve nodded. "Thank you." He patted her on the shoulder of her scrubs on his way to sit between the hospital beds.

On the other side of Tony's bed, Clint took another chair. "It's still so weird to think that Stark has been Iron Man this whole time." He peered Tony, analyzing every detail like he hadn't a couple dozen times before. If Tony had been awake for it, he probably would have gotten nervous by now.

"Is it really that weird?" Steve didn't think so. Knowing Tony like he did, it would be more absurd if Iron Man was someone else.

After a moment of thought, Clint nodded and sat back. "I guess not. I can see Stark doing all the stupid stuff, at least."

It wasn't a joke but Steve still smiled. "You have no idea," he said.

But between now and then was Tony's time as a HYDRA POW, and with it Zola's experiments. The mere idea had Steve's gut roiling. Imagining what had happened was bad enough; having to watch Tony suffer and be unable to do anything would be sheer hell.

For a long while nothing happened with Tony and Bucky; it was a relief but the longer that went on, the closer they got to…

Just back from an Avengers call, Steve had barely gotten done showering when JARVIS called for him. "Captain, you are needed immediately in the medical ward." How did a computer program sound worried?

The breath caught in Steve's chest. There could only be one thing happening and he half hoped it would never come. "I'm on my way." He hopped into a pair of pajama pants and threw on a shirt, and then sprinted out the door.

He didn't bother with the elevator, it was faster for him to run up the stairs. All the while his thoughts buzzed with curious fear. The lies Tony had told about Zola's experiments were sickening and Steve wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth if it was worse than that. But he couldn't bear not knowing.

The chaos from the medical ward could be heard the whole way at the stairway and it felt like Steve was choking on his own heart.

"Get a bag of AB type!"

"How'd his wrist break?!"

"WHERE'S THE AIR EVAC?!"

It hurt his feet a little to skid around the corner into the medical room but Steve didn't care. Not when he could see Tony's limbs jerking and his mouth open in an unending, silent scream. "What can I do?" he asked when one of the doctors glanced at him.

"Lead the evac team down from the roof!" she ordered and immediately went back to putting a needle in Tony's arm.

It felt like getting the paramedics to the room took forever. A few times they had to tell Steve to slow down, they were mere mortals here, and the less said about his impatience with the elevator, the better.

"What are we looking at?" the man who seemed in charge of the evacuation team asked as Tony was transferred to the stretcher.

Standing against the wall right next to the door, Steve listened with growing horror to the list of what had already happened. Needle marks all over the major muscle groups, broken wrist, choked on his feeding tube, bands of bruising across the body, seizures, renal failure beginning, heart rate and blood pressure alternating between dangerously high and even worse lows… As the list went on, Steve started to feel a little sick; this was so much worse than Tony and Bucky's lies had hinted at.

Then he heard his name. "Rogers, go with them!" the doctor from before, Jones, told him.

That was an order Steve had no problem obeying. He very nearly snapped off a salute to her automatically, but then just led the way back to the helicopter. "JARVIS, tell the rest of the team to look after Bucky and that Tony and I are being airlifted," he ordered, voice strained.

"Reporting to them now, Captain Rogers." God bless JARVIS.

The helicopter was crowded and Steve was relegated to the passenger seat in the front; his own knees creaked under his tight grip as he tried to conquer the sudden surge of anxiety. He didn't like to think of the last time he was in the front seat of an aircraft.

"Don't like heights?" the pilot asked, almost teasing.

"Last time I was in the front of a plane, I crashed it in Greenland," Steve answered. Just thinking about it, he felt his temperature drop again.

The helicopter lifted off gently. "Good thing this isn't a plane," the pilot observed and began to fly them further into New York.

"Captain Rogers, what are we supposed to be looking at?" called one of the paramedics from the back.

How was he supposed to know what they were seeing? He had barely gotten to Italy at that point.

"He's stabilizing," the lead paramedic reported with relief.

If only that could last. "He was on that table for three days. I don't think that was the last of it," Steve told them bitterly.

This was one of the times he despised being right. For three solid days Steve stayed parked in the chair right beside Tony's hospital bed, leaving only to use the bathroom and bring food up to the room. An Avengers alarm came but Natasha told him to stay where he was; the rest of the team would take care of it. He was sickeningly grateful to her and horribly guilty about being glad he could sit this one out.

Like hell was he leaving Tony so vulnerable in what was practically a public place.

On the third day bruising appeared in a strange pattern on Tony's face and his ears started bleeding. Even though it was diagnosed as burst eardrums, a broken cheek, and (unconnected) ripped vocal chords, Steve still breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll be there soon, Tony," he whispered and kissed the work rough knuckles.

Stupidly, he felt ready to cry. Either Tony would wake up soon, or he'd die, and Steve wasn't ready to face that kind of terror.

Luckily he got a distraction. Unfortunately, it was in the form of Pepper Potts gasping from the doorway. "Oh my god…" Looking lost, she wandered in and sat down heavily on the opposite side of the bed from Steve.

Tactfully, he didn't say anything. He had been here through the whole thing so far and still found it shocking.

For several minutes they sat in silence, Pepper visibly overwhelmed. Then she swallowed and gave Steve a weak smile. "How are you holding up?"

Still holding onto Tony's hand, he nodded. "Holding up. Hoping he wakes up at the end of this instead of dying… Again." It still boggled his mind, even years after figuring out what was going on.

"He always thought the Starosta thing was weird. Suspicious." Pepper's laugh sounded closer to a sob than it should have. "I don't think he ever suspected this though."

Steve should have expected Tony to tell her at least a little of what was going on. For some reason it took him by surprise. "I'm not sure I want to know what was going through his head," he said truthfully. It wouldn't matter when this was over, either way.

"For being a genius, he can be an idiot. A paranoid idiot. I knew you'd never hurt him, not on purpose. He's just been betrayed too many times to believe it," Pepper explained sadly. She picked up Tony's free hand and squeezed it.

"I can't blame him, knowing too much but not enough. It did look bad," Steve admitted.

"Tell me what really happened," Pepper urged gently. It was clear that he could refuse and she wouldn't press, but by now she deserved the truth.

So Steve told her. Even about their relationship, which made her laugh and then cry. There wasn't a single trace of pity but something like peace in her eyes by the time he finished his part of the story. "And when he wakes up?" she prompted.

The titanium band still (always) in his pocket burned. "That's up to him." Hopefully Tony would want to continue where they left off, even if only part of their silly imaginings could come true. But Steve would accept anything his man wanted from him, even if it was to screw off to Papua New Guinea or something. As long as Tony was alive to tell him what he wanted, anything was acceptable.

"He's been in love with you for years. I wouldn't be surprised if he dragged you to the courthouse for a wedding, still in his hospital gown." The mental image made them both giggle.

Even worse, Steve could see it happening. "We'll get there when we get there," he said but couldn't help the hope that rose up in his chest.

Once it was clear that Zola's experiments were over the doctors were willing to release Tony back to the Tower, but for once Steve disagreed. This wasn't the end of it. Soon enough Tony would be back on the table suffering nearly the same things again, and after that was his… death. Or waking. No one seemed to know but they conceded the necessity.

Weeks passed and injuries came and went. The results of the chicken attacks and the mushroom incident made Steve laugh, but gunshots and a cracked skull made him wince with sympathy. Another round on Zola's table made him want to snap the dead scientist's neck. Back at the Tower a gunshot wound opened up on Bucky's leg, but Bruce wrapped it and that was that.

Soon it would all be over. The possible forks in the path were just ahead and Steve was terrified of which one they would be forced onto. Would Tony and Bucky live? Would they die?

The worst part was that Steve could only pray.


End file.
